


fools rush in

by samiii_p



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2018-08-30 00:59:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8512690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samiii_p/pseuds/samiii_p
Summary: Grow up. Go to college. Get a job. Find a girl, marry her and be happy. That's how Barry Allen's life was supposed to go.





	1. goodnight & goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _you left me hanging by a thread we once swung from together_."  
>  \- goodnight, goodnight by Maroon 5  
> ...

The song loops three times before anyone truly realizes what’s happening. The keystrokes from the pianist come to a dwindling halt, sounding off with a loud thud as he is instructed to stop. With the music paused, it's easier to hear the hushed whispers take its' place.

He turns out to the crowd, a blend of his family and hers (at the time they thought it’d be cute to get one of those signs that read ‘sit wherever, today we become family’) but now, looking down at a sea of faces staring back with the utmost apathy, he regrets it because it's hard separating the pity of his own from hers.

The only people he can make out are his parents. Nora Allen, who wears her smile like a suit of armor stands front and center away from the crowd, uncertainty cast in the sharp green of her eyes and his father shares an equal look of ambivalence and it's clear. They are at a loss just as much as he is.

And if his parents don’t have an answer, then who?

“Hey, earth to Allen.” Oliver taps the toe of his shoe against Barry’s. “Barry.”

It’s been a little over two hours since the church emptied. Memories of family and friends pass by him in herds, wishing him well, letting him know it'll get better and his favorite: she never deserved you. If only their remorse had the power to demolish the wall of bricks planted in his stomach. Then maybe, just maybe he'd have the strength to leave.

"Barry."

"She's gone," rises like bile, burning and acidic on his tongue now that the reality is setting in and this is real. She's gone and she was not coming back.

He knows this after a visit to her dressing room. On her vanity, tucked between the glass and the wood holding the frame together, reveals a starch slip of paper with the word _sorry_ scribbled in her neat handwriting.  _Sorry_ does not mean cold feet. _Sorry_ isn’t lets try this some other time.

And all he has to show for the past three years of his life is this little slip of paper.

“Barry,” Oliver snaps his fingers. The sharpness cuts through this time, ringing, and drawing Barry's attention.

“Let's get out of here.”

Oliver was never Rebecca's biggest fan. In fact, he despised her but this was Barry's life, Barry's choice and if that she-devil made him happy .. well, who was he to get in the way? Even if there were a million and one reasons telling him otherwise. It stings like a bitch realizing this all could've been avoided had he spoken up. "Come on, B."

“She-”

“I know.” Oliver hangs Barry's arm over his shoulder, aiding him down the aisle on what was supposed to be the happiest day of his life. “I know.”

* * *

It's been thirty-four days and counting since anyone has seen him. Attempts to reach out go ignored. He won't answer his phone, reply to text, respond to emails or open the door. Collectively, they come to grips with giving him space but it's been a month already and when First Energy Electric & Gas Co. reach out, concerned about nonpayment it's time to intervene.

“This isn't good.”

“Tell me about it.”

“If you ask me it smells like open ass.”

“It’s a miracle anyone asks you anything Cisco."

“Hey,” the former steps around an empty pizza box sitting in the middle of the floor to call over his shoulder, “it’s the truth. Don't stand there and lie like this stench isn't turning your stomach.”

When no one denies it, Cisco mutters, "told you so," pushing back a strand of dark hair, stalking over to the double doors that lead out towards the patio he pushes back the curtains. Fresh sunlight spills into the living room, stripping shadows away even in the deepest of corners revealing the tornado of empty food boxes, papers, bottles and broken glass littering the floor.  

“Oh, my damn.”

“Do you think he sits here watching this all day?” A TV hangs on the wall and its' picture is dimmed but to the three friends standing around, it's easy to make out the image of Becky. Caitlin is the only one brave enough to voice the question on everyone's mind.

“It doesn't matter if he does or not, it ends today.” Oliver's states after a while. He finds the remote buried under the coffee table and shuts the television off then moves over to the lump hidden under a pile of blankets on the couch. “Help me get him up.”

They move with Cisco taking lead at the foot, Oliver at the head and Caitlin in the middle. She starts by lifting the blanket away, unleashing the dizzying aroma of Barry full force.

Cisco buries his nose into the bulge of his shoulder, just on the fence of visibly gagging. “Mhmm... mmm, foul.”

“Caitlin.” Oliver steers.

“Right, right.”

Holding her breath she pinches more blankets away until the last one has fallen to the floor, uncovering Barry dressed in the same pj's they left him in four weeks ago.

Oliver ducks his head, inhales and catches Barry under his shoulder lifting him with Cisco's help. "Be careful," he advises, moving over the single step cluttered in clothes. Maneuvering Barry around the small bathroom provides to be a task but they manage, tucking his body in the tub just right. 

"You sure this is a good idea?" Cisco asks.

"Do you have a better one?" When a lack of response comes, Oliver proceeds.

“What the shit!”

“Oh good, he's up.”

“What the shit. What the shit, guys!” Barry kicks but makes no move to get away from cold water raining down from the shower head. “What the shit!”

“Barry,” Oliver says, spinning the handle off. “You need to get up.”

“Fuck. I’m awake. W-what the hell are you doing in my house? How'd you even get in?”

Cisco lifts the key on his lanyard. “Dude, spare key, duh.”

“Forget how we got in. Barry, the reason we’re here today is because, frankly, you’re a mess.”

“A mess.”

“You haven’t stepped foot out of this place since Rebecca.”

“At all.” Cisco crones.

“And you need to get yourself back out there.”

“Like asap, ‘cause it’s starting to reek, seriously, dude. It’s otherworldly rank in here.”

“Cisco.”

“What,” the shortest of the trio whirls around the messy bathroom, avidly pointing out the contents lining the hallway floor spilling over into the living area. “I mean, Barry for a guy sulking you sure know how to make a mess.”

“I’m fine.” Barry turns over in the tub, letting the wet clothes stick to him like a second skin on his tired frame.

Cisco peeks at his friend then turns to Oliver with a shrug, as if to ask ‘what now’?

“Alright. If you want to play it this way, so be it.” The cold water handle switches back over.

“Shit!”

“This is for your own good,” Barry vaguely hears Oliver over the rushing water pelting his body before Cisco is thrust into his line of sight. “Get his clothes off,” Oliver advocates, pulling soap and towels from the shelves.

“Me? Why me?”

“Just do it.”

It takes time containing Barrys' combating limbs. Eventually, Oliver binds him down by asserting himself in the tub while Cisco squeezes half a bottle of Men’s Dove Extra Fresh on Barry from head to toe. When it’s over, each of them leave the bathroom soaking wet to find Caitlin looking on from the living room.

“We never speak of this,” Cisco says, passing to the bedroom. “Never.”

“You know, this whole process will go a lot smoother if you stopped fussing.”

“Shut up, Cisco,” snatching the shirt away, Barry yanks it over his head, ignoring the cross look both Cisco and Oliver wear. He swallows the guilt. He never asked for help. He never asked for any of this.

“Well excuse me,” instead of sticking around Cisco opts out, preferring to check in with Caitlin.

“You need to apologize.”

His rational side advises they're only trying to help. It's not Cisco's fault he was stood up. “I know.”

From the corner of the room, Oliver stands stiffly with his arms crossed looking on at this shoddy image of what used to be, because make no mistake about it, this version currently standing in front Oliver was not the Barry Allen he grew up with. He was nowhere near the man or friend. 

“Stop staring at me. I know I look like crap.”

“Worse,” Oliver deadpans, resting against the dresser. A snap response to Barry's 'gee, thanks’ undercuts his own reply of, “what the hell happened to you?”

When Barry stops, Oliver knows he's said the wrong thing at the wrong time and what little energy Barry has, sparks to life. “Seriously? Are we going to pretend like I didn't get stood upor has the memory slipped your mind altogether.” Barry bristles, crossing to the other side of the room, “but oh, wait, I forgot. You’re Oliver Queen and everything is perfect all the  _fucking_ time for you.”

“Barry...”

“No, no. I get it. Poor Oliver Queen doesn't know how to love,” Barry pokes him square in the chest, “because people don't actually see me for me, only what I can do for them. Did I get that right? What a bunch of bullshit.”

“Are you done?”

“Far from it.”

“Okay,” Oliver relents, stepping away. He has to remember to choose his battles wisely. If Barry needs this to get out of his funk then so be it. “Okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Of course you’re hurt, Barry. Angry. But come on, look at yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You haven’t been out of this house since that day. You won't let your parents in. You won't let your friends in-"

"... look how well that's doing me now."

"You stopped caring about yourself, Barry." So what if he had? When he actively tried doing everything under the sun to please her, she left. So really, what was the point?

“You guys should go. Thank you for stopping by and checking on me but I’m fine, really Oliver. I’m good.”

Oliver trudges closer, reaching a hand out for Barry's shoulder. He, like Cisco and Caitlin, are severely at a loss on how to jump this hurdle life has thrown their friend. All they know is that it'll take time and if it's one thing they all came to an agreement on is that until Barry can shoulder the weight of this, they will be his strength.

“I know you think you can’t move on but you can, Barry. You will.”


	2. time stops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _you know you're not what I wanna sing but you're the only thing, only thing, that's playing in my head_."  
>  \- drop by Chole x Halle  
>  **…**

Barry secludes himself in his - _their_ house because it’s not a home, not anymore but her name is on the lease so … there’s that. They tell him he needs time; everyone including the goddamn mailman says he needs to process. Heal. Recover. Time will fix it. 

He flips Dean (the mailman) off. _Kiss my ass_  he seethes, slamming the door.

“You need to get out the house,” Oliver circles the living room with a trash bag and a duster. Thanks to his friends the townhouse is slowly emerging from the depths of hell, even though Cisco complained his fancy new Adidas were sticking to the floor.  

Barry peers over the shoulder of the couch and kicks his feet up on the coffee table along the way, much to Oliver's annoyance. He just spent the better half of an hour scrubbing that thing... “Don’t worry about it.” Any of it. For all Barry cared, it could stay, erode and burn.

“Barry." Oliver tries to draw his attention. He feels like an idiot standing there, covered in grime, sweat, and yellow rubber gloves and if he's being quite honest, he's starting to get a little t'ed. 

And Barry can tell. “No one asked you to stay. You can leave anytime you want." The irony is Oliver is just as stubborn as Barry - maybe even more and it would keep him here, no matter how long it took. 

"Barry." 

Hearing his name being called for what seemed like the millionth time was starting to weigh Barry down physically and mentally. They were exhausting him and all he wanted to do was sleep so he wouldn't have to think. Was that too much to ask for? “I took the stupid shower. I shaved and put on clean clothes. What else do you want?"

“Work. Tomorrow.” Oliver demands, leaving no wiggle room for an argument like his word was law and all had to abide by it. And usually, for the most part, they let him get away with it. He never asked for much, if anything. _But_ , getting Barry to actually follow those orders was a different story entirely. 

"And why would I do that?” makes it all the more apparent that any of this would be easy.  

“Because,” Cisco instigates from the kitchen, lifting a stack of envelopes, “you got bills.”

Oliver drops the bag at his feet and takes in this shell of a person that use to be his best friend. It makes him cringe. Thinking about it causes him to break out in a cold sweat. If this is what love did, if this is what it meant to fall in love and lose them, he wanted no part of it. And he damned sure would've asked more than 'are you sure' even if Barry's response was an automatic, 'of course. She's the one'. He wouldn't have let it go. 

"Don't you think it's time?"

Barry blinks at the question, the green of his eyes stewing with everything he's had to bate beneath his skin, fuming at the idea that someone who's never had a serious commitment outside of his money was telling him to _get over it_ and _move on -_ justexactly how long was he afforded the luxury of wrapping his mind around the idea of the one person he planned to spend the rest of his life with leaving him? Was there a deadline he had to meet in order to effectively compartmentalize his pain? What thirty, maybe sixty days at most? What about a full calendar year? 

“His bedroom is finally clean.” Caitlin arrives from the back, sounding just as exhausted as everyone looked and catches Cisco’s relieved, “oh thank Jesus” amidst the growing tension. “Is ... everything okay?"

Barry snorts, “seems kinda pointless to ask, donchathink? I dunno, though, maybe after you're stood up we can compare notes.”

“Barry.” Oliver hisses. Barry folds his arms, sinking down into the couch like a punished child, caught with his hand stuffed in the cookie jar. He shouldn't have said that. He regrets it. It's a second too late but he does.

Cisco's assuring, “I wouldn’t do that, babe,” rises from the background, twisting Barry's stomach over in the process because it's true. Later on in the year when Caitlin walked down the isle, Cisco would be there waiting for her. 

Barry sees it. And Oliver sees him. "Hey," he takes the vacant seat beside Barry. He's not good at this - _oversharing_ and talking about _feelings_ \- he doesn't have a problem with people who do or think that it tarnishes his masculinity - he's genuinely just not good at it. It's like when god started handing out gifts he forgot to add this one to his DNA. But he tries, cutting straight to the point. "You’re a good person, Barry, and it's her loss, okay. It’s hers.”

The air leaving Barry's lungs feel pinched. There, but struggling to surface. Transporting him back to a late night where the booze ran out and the anxiety rose an all time high. On the TV he watches her blow a kiss into the camera for what feels like the thousandth time and each smile that follows after reminds him of when her love was clear. Of mornings and nights, waking up and falling asleep ravishing in how it spread like wildfire. "Was I wrong?" he asked, requiring answers from a version of her that existed prior. "You were happy, right? I made you happy, didn’t I?" She never gave him an answer. Not then and not now.

And he cracks. 

“It’s okay Barry.” Oliver hugs him, forgetting boundaries. Caitlin and Cisco follow, covering him at all sides until he can let it all out. _Eventually,_ it would get better. "it's okay."

* * *

Going back to work is so _fricking_ hard.

He doesn't dive in, losing himself in blueprints and drafts as suggested.

No. Baby steps. It's the only way it'll work. So...

step one: getting out of bed.

step two: eating breakfast and keeping it down.

step three and four: leaving. This one is hard. The first time he tries he can't make it past his front porch. 

step five through eight: is muscle memory. driving. parking. swiping his access card and walking to his office. Also included in this step - avoiding his entire team, who are surprised to see him. Happy, but surprised. 

step nine: now that he's here, he has to resist the urge to run away and hide. He almost has a panic attack entering his office for the first time in a month and seeing all the pictures he has of her lining the shelves, placed on his desk with the odd little items she bought as decoration doesn't help.

step ten: includes flipping every single picture face down and banning all knickknacks to an unused desk drawer. 

step eleven: remembering to breathe. 

He repeats steps nine and eleven like a mantra as an escape that he almost misses Oliver entering the room. "I didn't hear you knock."

Oliver pauses, one foot in front of the other, hands stuffed deep in his slack pockets. "... because I didn't." pause and then, "How’s it going?”

Barry sucks his teeth, turning back to his drawing table. "Let's just say I’m going to stab myself in the eye if one more person asks me how am I doing.”   

“That bad?”

Considering Human Resources has emailed him several times today with numbers to counselors, tips and a 5 step program on 'how to deal' or how his team can't look him directly in the eye without turning into mush ... or, and this one is his favorite by far - his boss, who recently went through a divorce herself links him to a dating website. So yeah, everything's _fine._ Peachy 'effin keen.

“You don't have to check up on me. I promise I haven't pictured throwing myself into moving traffic in the last," he glances at the clock on the wall, guestimating, "oh, I'd say twenty-seven minutes and thirteen seconds.”

Oliver's expensive shoes click to a stop behind him. A second stretches on for far too long when he finally says, “you were never really all that funny.”

And since he likes to inflict torture, “you think that’s why she left me?”

“... probably.”

The pencil racing over the dull white staggers, tattering the sheet in the process and the lead snaps. It feels like a full hour has come and gone before he fully registers what has been done - what has been said. When it does, he laughs. It's quiet. It doesn't tickle his body or make him double over but it's an honest to god real laugh. The first real anything he's felt in a long time.

When it's over Oliver is at his side wearing the barest of smiles. “I’m glad you like that one. I’ve been sitting on it for quite some time.” He's on the move again. This time Barry follows, easily detecting the tailored suit and silk tie against the grungy layout of his office. 

"...so?" he prompts, curiosity winning out. "What're you doing here?"

“These are new,” Oliver redirects the conversation by pointing out the blueprints framed on the wall. Barry looks past him, remembering how they started out as drafts, never intended to see the light of day until Ms. Grant catches wind and insists he apply for funding. A green light and two seals of approvals later and they were currently under construction in downtown Metropolis. 

"Oliver?” 

He huffs, relenting. “Cisco and I were talking…” Barry cuts him off there and pivots around on the stool. He curses at the chipped pencil and again as Oliver continues; “Just this once, Barry. Please.”

“Don't you have a company to run?”

Another hinted smile ghost his features. "'taking the night off.” Oliver atones, crossing the office at his leisure. “Start somewhere.” he advises, "it'll be good for you."

Barry shakes his head before Oliver has the chance to finish, arguing over his words, “Becky wasn’t just some girl. She was my fiancée, Oliver. So if takes me a week or a month or damnit a _fucking_ year. I need you to respect that!”

Oliver raises his voice back. “I know that okay! I know that. I just want-”

“What?” Barry dares him to say it. "What!"

“I want you to feel normal again.” The room is quiet. Across it, Oliver regards him from one corner and Barry does the same. The last time they fought like this was freshman year of college. Barry went away to some swanky, esteemed architect school upstate and Oliver's father paid his way into his Alma-Mater and fraternity. By the time holiday break rolled around, Oliver was three paces pass go and no longer cared about anything, like at all. 'eff the world', 'eff his parent's standards' and 'eff anyone who didn't agree'. Talking him down from the ledge put a serious strain on their friendship at the time but Barry never gave up and now that the shoe was on the other foot, neither would Oliver.

The shared memory calms Barry, “I get it. I’d do the same.”

"You have."

"I know," Barry admits with a strangled sigh. "But you can't expect me to pretend like I'm not hurting either. Every day, I sit at home hoping she'll walk through that front door at any second. So if you're asking me to figure out a timeline on my future on when, well then I don't know what to tell you and I'll be forced to lie. I'm sorry Oliver but I love her and I'm always going to. That's just the way it is." Truthfully, he's loved her for so long, he doesn't know how to stop.

Oliver nods once and starts toward the door. His hand is on the handle when he spots one of Barry's first designs; an outline he created sometime in high school. A two story house, with three bedrooms and an open floor plan. His dream house. The same one he planned to build with his own money and gift it to his family one day.

And to think, he was one ‘I do’ away from it all.

“I need you to listen to me, Barry. Really hear me okay?” when no argument broaches, Oliver takes that as his cue to continue. He ducks his head, tightening his resolve to speak the truth because it was going to hurt but he needed to hear it. “She's not coming back. I think it’s time you realize that.”

 


	3. be careful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _want that good life, 'cause we never had it_."  
>  \- wishlist by PJ  
> ...

“Any ideas?” disrupts the patter of footfalls hitting pavement in the unusual spring chill hovering Central City. Their night of fun comes down to walking around with hopes of finding an attraction to appease all three. So far, no such luck had hit. “.. maybe downtown?” From Cisco’s left a lethargic scoff surfaces. Which, okay, so it's not one of his best but at least he was trying - so what if downtown was littered in bright, over pretentious nightclubs? As far as Cisco was concerned: something was better than nothing.  

“Veto.”

“Nixing plan turn up, then.” Cisco says, detracting it from an invisible catalog of tonight’s festivities. “Uptown?” is probably the worst of all his two-bit proposals. Nothing except a bunch of rowdy college students lay uptown.

“Don’t you think we’re too old for that?”

“We’re in our 20’s.” Late twenties but all the same. “Come on guys. Give me something to work with.” As it was Barry's original plan to marathon Netflix until he was blue in the face, he rapidly voted to return home but Oliver shoots that down. “Except that.” Cisco counters. So they walk another block, shoulder to shoulder against the wind. In the distance a car alarm blares in the night disturbing the quiet neighborhood, mingling with a conversation being held between a couple a few feet ahead. They keep moving as the list shortens. Oliver is not in the mood for karaoke, two scandalized stares beat him down at the very mention of a strip club and no one wants to take the trip across town for Chinese.

Cisco's starting to wonder why he passed up a night with his finance for this. “Not to be a buzzkill-”

“What about this place?” Oliver points out the small brick front across the street, nestled between a high-rise on both shoulders. The glowing EDDIE's sign overhead draws each of their attention and coming to a silent agreement where majority ruled, they shuffle across the street lined with parked cars. A song from the early decade plays loudly through the metal door well before they push it in. "At least the music is good." if nothing else, tonight won’t be a total waste.

The bar is filled to maximum if the greeting scene is anything to go by. They stick close, working their way through a crowd no better than those rowdy college students they vehemently opposed earlier, stopping when Oliver calls over his shoulder, “grab us a table. Drinks are on me," disappearing into a sea of strangers.

Simple enough. A task any two adult mature men can handle,  _easily_. No big deal, until - "outta the way," burly guy dressed in leather pushes Barry aside without so much as a second glance, generating a chain of events to incur..  _crash. yelp._ "crap." then, "I am so sorry. I'm sorry, let me -uh-" hurriedly, Barry steals a handful of napkins from a nearby table, diligently getting to work on drying beer through her soggy wet top - right over her chest.

"Oh."

".. um."

Cisco chuckles into the back of his hand, "this is too good to be real."

“I’m sorry," Barry stampedes into another cycle of apologizes, stumbling over words in search of a valid excuse.   

“It’s alright. I was planning on getting my laundry done tomorrow anyways," she cuts him off not so much for her sake as his.

"Let me pay for your dry cleaning," he insists, directing his spaz-attack into a different lane, no matter how much she reassures him. He locks his fingers behind a tenses neck and lifts his chin toward the ceiling, cursing under his breath. 

"Really..." at her pause, the other guy shoves him in the back jolting a name forward. “Really Barry, I'm okay. This isn't the first time I’ve had beer spill on me. I’m Iris by the way."

"Cisco and this is Oliver," who walked in right around the awkward chest cleaning catastrophe fills the void Barry can’t. “Let us get you another beer.”

“Or,” Oliver intervenes, "Barry can do it. We'll hang back."

“Even better.”

He can hardly function and they expect him to walk beside her through the bar? Alone.  _By himself_! But as it turns out, Barry doesn't have to do much of anything. Her friend owns the place and after Iris explains the situation she scores a free round on the house. Back at the table Cisco and Oliver have conveniently disappeared much to Barry's dismay. He surveys the crowd for a buzz-cut sporting strikingly neutral features and another with much longer, darker hair masking a face of mischief but comes up empty handed. “Fuck,” slips from his parted lips a second too late as he realizes current company. “Sorry, you weren’t supposed to hear that. I’m sorry.”

“You say that a lot."

Barry ducks his head brushing a hand over his face tiredly. "I know. I'm -"

"- sorry?" she guesses and he flushes, in that moment she decides he's cute enough to stay put, taking his hand she pulls him into the seat across from hers. Now that he's slumped over he almost matches her height, highlighting the ware and tare casting his features and lining his withered face. His hair is a mess, ruffling away from the natural part as it stands at odd ends connecting to spotty scruff lining his jaw. He’s cute but he also looks out of place, here and in his own skin. "It looks like you could use a drink."

“No thanks.”

"Well, it's here if you need it." 

Barry hunches even more over the table, crossing his arms while he glances out towards the crowd. Rebecca would never step foot into a place like this. She wouldn’t be too keen with him spending time here either, regardless of company.

"I don't need a babysitter." The word  _babysitter_  drops harder than he originally intends. He revises, "what I mean is you can get back to your friends. I don't want to keep you."

"Who said you were keeping me?"

He smiles tightly, thinning his upper lip into a sneer. He chances a real look at her from under long lashes and finds her assessing him from head to toe and it literally feels like he’s being undressed in the middle of a crowd with the world to see. The power of it pushes him back. “No one. I guess."

Her responding smile tilts the atmosphere, inserting a calm he hasn't felt all night. His stress is not completely removed, Rebecca and what she might say wears heavily coating him like a second skin but Iris eases him into conversation one question at a time; nothing personal, surface stuff mostly that won’t matter outside the confines of this place drawing the night on until hours have passed as well as three other rounds. And maybe it’s the alcohol but she starts flirting with him makes no move to stop it. Heck, maybe even a small part of him welcomes it.

‘What about Rebecca?’ his subconscious weaves it’s fingers through the fog but it’s crueler, counterpart responds even louder, ‘what about her?’

“We’ll have to agree to disagree.” Iris chases away his smart reply by pulling at the fabric of his shirt and he watches bone still, as her hand drops to his thigh forcing him back into the present. 

“Want to get out of here?” she catches him off guard, batting her eyelashes shly and he realizes she must be nervous. The point proven more as she backtracks, “or am I totally embarrassing myself right now?”

“Yes,” her brow dents in what must be humiliation that he hurries to correct, “I mean no. Yes to the other thing and… no t-to the last part.” He clears his throat, “the first part is fine.”

Across the bar seated at a booth hidden in a dark corner Oliver and Cisco watch Barry follow the pretty girl to the exit. “There he goes.” Cisco whispers, clinking his bottle to Oliver's. “I kind of feel like a proud papa, like that’s my boy.”

“Cisco?”

“Hmm?”

“Shut up.”

Her home is less than a ten minute walk away from the bar. A little longer if you factor in the few times she pulls him aside, teasing her lips over his throat and jawline; a glimpse of what's to come. They stumble upstairs in a race to see who can remove which article of clothing the fastest in a mess of eager hands and tongues only breaking away to refill their lungs or ask if this is really okay.

“We can stop if you want. I won’t mind.” He mumbles, flustered.

Under the hood of her gaze, time slows as he feels her touch on his skin leading up to softly trace the outline of his jaw; back and forth he feels her thumb graze him.

“Kiss me.” she says, replacing fingers with lips. 

“Iris,” he breathes, registering how smooth her name flows on his tongue. He says it again consumed after that, edged on by her soft moans and greedy hands focused on his nape. And she’s so soft. In every curve, dip and valley he finds his hands dig in greedily prompting a number of reactions and sounds he swears he never needed until now.

Licking her taste away from his fingers Barry climbs away in search of his jeans tousled on the floor, trifling through his wallet for the condom he knows is there. One knee presses to the bed, the other jilted to the floor as he sheathes himself to discover her watching the stroke of his hand. “Come here,” she hooks of her finger impelling him near until he’s cradled between her thighs and sliding into her. Their reactions match, a gasp from her rivals his only to tumble into a groan as he starts to move. She’s so tight, the feeling propels him forward and he drops his head to her shoulder with a shaky sigh, leaving him to regain what bearings he has left.

Her shape is almost half of his but it occupies every available space presented. From the scrape of her nails coasting his spine or how her thighs hook around his waist, to tug his freckled chest pressed hard against her own leading to the seal of her mouth tackling the curve of his shoulder. The sensation are too hot to handle. His one saving grace is she can feel it too.

Iris breaks first, whining against the shell of his ear, begging him to follow and it kindles his release deep in her clenches causing a flutter all over and he just barely catches the allure of her smile. He kisses her creating a path that stops between her breast. Hazy, he rolls over tossing the used latex to the floor while he sucks in fresh air one gulp at a time. He feels weightless and that feeling can only be challenged by the heaviness in his eyelids. “I-I can leave if you want.”

A clock ticks in the room and he counts the next seconds following before her voice breaks the lukewarm silence they've simultaneously created, “it’s okay. I don’t mind if you rest before taking off.”

He hums gratefully and falls asleep. 


	4. flower child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"now we're moving from the darkness into the light. This is the defining moment of our lives."_  
>  \- beautiful flower by India Arie  
> ...

Barry groans as he snuggles further into the bed sheets, almost akin to beg the sun for five more minutes as rays of sunlight blast through the window of his room, properly waking him before he’s ready.

Stirring, he peels his eyes open and his vision is blurred at first by sleep so it takes him a minute before he realizes the white perfumed linen are not his. And one domino crashes into another as green eyes travel up a brick wall at the head to find four pictures, all different sizes connecting as one frame to form an image of a tree bare its’ leafs.

His eyes swirl to the left where the sun blares through a floor to ceiling window even with the flowy style of the curtains closed and he keeps going until he’s made a full 360 noting the furniture and the light paneled wood lining the floors back to the crisp white sheets hiding his, from what he can tell, very naked figure are none of his.

“Good morning.”

He starts, tugging the sheet tighter around his waist in surprise as his eyes land on the girl standing against one half of a double door frame before she moves away, straightening to her full height and curls her lips in amusement. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She lifts a steaming mug to his line of sight, daring to inch toward the bed and sit on the edge. “I thought you might like some coffee. Do you drink coffee? I have tea or orange juice if that’s more your style.”

“No, no. Coffee is fine.”

A smile eases her features like it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to do and she hands over the cup. He tilts his head in thanks, bringing it to his lips and sips approvingly at her choice of roast.

“I don’t know how you take it so I made it like mine. Heavy on the cream, no sugar. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine.” Actually, it’s really good. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He watches her jump up from the spot beside him to move over to the dresser sitting opposite her bed, riveted by her wild curls and how they sway with each step she takes. She looks a child straight from the 70s, wild, carefree and beautiful.

“So, about last night...”

His ears perk up at the mention and he sits up straighter in the tangled sheets, giving her his undivided attention, coffee forgotten.

“It was great,” Iris says with an esteemed air that has Barry smiling, even more so when he catches her mumbling ‘really great’. “But I kind of have to head out. I’m meeting my friends for brunch, so...”

Hint taken.

“Yeah, um, okay.”

“Not that I’m kicking you out because like I said, last night...,” she drifts, chancing a glance at him before turning back to the mess in her dresser. “If I cancel, again, they’ll have my head.”

“No. I get it.”

She excuses herself then, disappearing behind the half wall to reappear shortly after with a yellow dress on its’ hanger, halting when she catches one last glimpse of Barry as he pulls his boxers up.

A blush flushes the root of his scalp down to the panels of his chest to match her shy expression.

“Sorry.”

“... s’okay.”

In the time it takes him to get fully dressed she continues to move around her bedroom, throwing her clothes from last night into a hamper and finding her boots to go with her outfit and he wonders if he should quietly let himself out.

“I can make the bed if you want.” He suggest, awkwardly standing beside the four poster queen size bed, looking over the mess of sheets.

“No don't, um, worry about it.” She atones in a light voice that almost sounds like she’s restraining laughter. “I’ll change them.”

“That makes sense.”

He doesn’t think he’s a messy lover by any sense of the word but then again, she doesn’t know him from the next guy - which, he guesses could technically categorizes him as a stranger and who wants to leave a strangers musk behind in their bed?

“Let me show you out.”

Barry nods, following her downstairs and through a spacious living room he has no recollection of passing last night to stand at her front door.

“I had a good time.”

“Me too.”

“So, I guess this is it.”

“Yeah,” he shifts his stance, not really sure what to do with his hands at the moments so he stuffs them in his pockets and says, “that’s how these things work, right?”

“That’s what they tell me. Not that this is a regular occurrence...” She’s trying to joke and he wonders if her nerves are getting the best of her. His surely were. “Well, um, I guess I’ll see you around.” She sticks out her hand and he automatically takes it, holding it in his much larger palm as they shake. “Or not. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to patrol bars looking for you.”

Thick brows lift, freezing, perplexed.

“Not that I wouldn’t say hi to you if we ran into each other again. I would.”

His head tilts to the side, soaking all of her in. They’re still shaking hands but now it’s rushed and has gone past the point of subtle goodbye until she snatches hers back. “And I’m just going to stop talking now.”

“I know what you meant.”

“Cool,” she sounds relieved. “Sometimes I don’t know when to shut up.”

He stands there, observing her ambivalent smile, how it doesn’t fully reflect the rest of her features, tight lipped and different from the bright one from last night that was full of teeth and contagion. What he can see, is how the light from the bay windows shine over her brown eyes granting the gold around her pupils to stand out and melt into the brown, reminding him of pure honey.

He really hopes he complimented her on them sometime last night because God are they beautiful.

“Well...”

The door sliding open snaps him from the trance she unintentionally put him under and cupping the back of his neck, he nods once in parting and shows himself out.

At the end of her driveway, Barry turns left starting in what he hopes is the right direction of the bar. He’s lighter on his feet, like he usually is after a night spent with a woman and maybe Oliver was right. Maybe this was exactly what he needed to spark the process of getting over Rebecca.

Across the street a diner sits and he finds himself inside, ordering a platter of eggs, bacon and pancakes all the while pretending to not notice the waitress’ stare.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I could get you, sweetie?” She ask, resting one hand on the leather booth just above his shoulder and leaning in so her chest perfectly aligns with his eyesight. And really, it’s too early for this.

“No, um, I’m fine.”

“Well, if you change your mind.” She taps playfully at the white name tag perched over her bosom where black letters spell out the name: C H E R I. ‘You know, like the fruit’ and whispers lightly over his ear, “don’t be afraid to call on me.”

C H E R I has only stepped away when his phone vibrates in his pocket with a text from Oliver. **OQ: home?**

He swipes his thumb across the screen, on the lookout for automated corrections: **not yet, eating breakfast.**

 **OQ: She made you breakfast? She’s a keeper** Barry wonders if coffee counts and text back **@ Adam’s diner across the street from the bar**

**OQ: omw**

Oliver opens the door of the diner a little over twenty minutes later, dressed smartly even in his casual wear of a polo and khakis and spots Barry in the back. “I figured you’d need a ride,” he says sliding into the booth.

Honestly, Barry was in such a fog after waking up this morning that walking the twelve blocks home never crossed his mind.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, what are friends for if not to rescue other friends from walks of shame and second rate diners?”

“W-what are you doing … are you - are you trying to make a funny?”

Oliver crossed his arms, leaning back into the squeaky off brand material lining the booth, raising a shoulder, ready to respond when C H E R I reappears suddenly, bringing her suggestive wink and a double dose of whatever perfume she’s wearing. She reaches over to refill his coffee mug. “You brought a friend, can I get you anything, sweetie? Coffee, a menu … my number?”

Barry’s more intrigued by Oliver’s stunned reaction than the waitress pick up line, after all she used the same one seconds after he sat down.

“The check will be fine, thank you.”

“Coming right up,” C H E R I purrs, dragging the tip of her nail over the shell of Barry’s ear, lifting hairs on the back of his neck and flies it over to Oliver’s shoulder, squeezing the bulk of it affectionately.

“Younger me would’ve loved this place,” Oliver says, privileged for Barry’s ears only.

“So glad you grew up.”

“Me too.”

They ride in silence minus the monotony of stock trade lulling within the sleek vehicle as background noise. Outside the city zips pass in a blur of familiar settings and city life Barry has grown accustomed since moving to Central City with his family when he was younger. There was no place or avenue that he hadn’t seen or touched. For instance the old Tyler Memorial Library sat tucked between towers like a well hidden secret nestled in the active trifecta of the city and how he spent hours there after school doing homework, reading comics, tutoring Oliver.

His favorite bowling alley wasn't too far away. He and Cisco frequented most Saturday nights there. In fact, it’s where he landed his first job earning enough money to spring for things on his own like concert tickets, books or when he managed to nervously push through, the occasional date.

Around the bend from his town house was the waterfront. He proposed to Rebecca there.

“Do you think I should move?”

Oliver kept one eye on the road and the other on Barry. “Is this a trick question?”

“Why would it be a trick question?”

The car slows as they came to a stop sign, granting Oliver a moment to think as he checks both ways before driving forward. “You love that house. If I remember correctly, you said you couldn’t have designed it better yourself. Besides, I thought you wanted to settle there until you were ready to build your dream home.”

He did. “I did.”

“But?”

“That was before, well,” he gestured with his hands, refusing to verbally acknowledge the worst event of his twenty-eight years of existence, “you know.”

“Well you can look at it one of two ways,” Oliver starts, giving Barry the chance to cut before he starts spouting truth like a leaky faucet but none come, so.., “you can move out and start over or you can stop letting Rebecca dictate your life and move on.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“From where I’m standing, it pretty much is. Listen Bary, I love you . You know that. You’ve got a whole crew of people here for you, supporting you but sooner or later you have to get over this hump and that’s something you’ll have to figure out on your own. And taking the shortcut isn’t going to help. The only thing that will is if you face it head on.”

It’s not that simple. He wished, but it’s not. “Everywhere I turn, I see her.”

“Then throw her stuff out.”

Barry bulks, “I can’t just put her stuff on the street, besides it’s not just things. It’s … everything. Memories. Her smell. The house… I can’t just, I don’t know what to do.”

“You know what to do, Barry. You’re just avoiding it.”

“And it’s suppose to be that easy, huh?”

“Only if you stop making excuses.”

That’s it. The only other word is a sullen ‘see you later’ as Oliver drops him home.


	5. a lot to lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _don't move you got a lot to lose and if you walk away it won't be fair._ "  
> \- keep you in mind by Guordan Banks
> 
> much love to **Kats_m3ow** for being an awesome Beta.  
> ...

‘ **Urgent** ’ stares back at him in thick, bold letters with three exclamation marks stacked behind it, increasing its sense of importance and he thinks about deleting it and exiting Facebook all together but the girl from the club, Iris, smiles up at him from her profile picture, allowing curiosity to seep in. One click and the window pops open.

‘ **Are you free to meet this week?** ’

The request is odd considering they haven’t seen or spoken a word since the morning after almost two months ago. Even the memory is foggy, only the hint of powerful honey brown eyes jog it.

He types back: **kinda swamped... if I left something you can throw it out**. The cursor hovers over the logout button when her profile changes to green.

“Crap.”

‘ **It’ll only take a sec. Thursday okay?** ’

“Thursday, Thursday.” He murmurs, mentally running through his calendar. He has a meeting with a prospective client later on in the afternoon. He supposes he can squeeze her in right after.

‘ **Meeting @ccJitters. I should be done by 3:30ish - can you meet then?** ’

It only takes her a second to reply.

‘ **Great, I’ll see you there.** ’

“Great,” the words regurgitate with a lack of enthusiasm as his fingers strike across the keyboard: ‘ **whatever I left you can toss. I haven’t noticed it anyway** ’ but she's offline. Her profile switches from green to red before he can press send.

Barry harrumphs, pounding the backspace key with his index finger until message is removed and the blinking cursor. Overhead a maze of boxes sit across his home office as nothing more than fuzzy background in his peripherals until the inevitable happens and his will breaks as he peers over the screen of the desktop, lingering. He started the project of separating her stuff from his and storing them into boxes labeled with her name a little over a week ago until their space slowly transforms into solely his. He did so, one day at a time which made her absence all the more evident as each room lost her personal touch.

In the morning a truck would arrive bright and early, destined for her parents' house. They’ve offered to pack up her belongings but he'd rather not deal with their sympathy or another one of Mrs. Cooper’s apology casseroles. “She misses you, I know she does.”

_But does she still want me?_

“Will you tell her I miss her too?”

“It’ll be the first thing I say the next time she calls.”

She only calls her parents to let them know she’s safe. Only on Sundays and always before noon. He can always depend on Melinda Cooper's call by one.

“Don’t worry Barry, give her time and she’ll come back.”

Barry wants to believe her. He tells himself one more day, just one more minute. If he prays hard and keeps patient she’ll run back into his arms, yet, the clock ticks moving the hand to change time once again and another minute has passed and she’s still not here.

He blinks, shutting his eyes for what feels longer than necessary and tries one of those breathing techniques his mother told him about. _“Control your diaphragm, let oxygen seep into your lungs slowly and release. Again Barry.”_ When his eyelids flutter open he’s staring at his computer screen and the picture of the smiling woman from the bar. He logs out, shutting down his computer altogether and stands.

Rebecca’s things won't pack itself.

He ends up in the closet off the living room, pulling storage tots from the top shelf. It’s mostly his stuff but he peels back the lid, just to be certain. Inside is an old college sweater he’s never worn, some photos from a skiing trip his senior year and a few sketchbooks he’s filled to the brim over the years. He flips one open landing on a page with a photo clipped to the side he started drawing but left unfinished. He forgot it existed until now and the memory of him taking the shot returns clear as day. Central City was just on the brink of switching seasons, turning summer into fall and the leaves were just beginning to turn from their natural green to hues of oranges and red at the tips. He remembers slowing down, captivated by his surroundings and taking the shot before he rushed home to develop it. For an hour he would try to recreate its beauty after a long run in the park.

He use to run. The summer before he met her, he used to run. For fun. In marathons. Sometimes, when the world got too loud with worries, as an escape.

One sleepy morning she catches him just as he’s getting out of bed, and teases his spine with a kiss, distracting his senses and unknowingly resetting a course and altering his routine. He runs less and less until eventually it no longer fits into his schedule.

Slapping the pad close, he dumps it and everything else back in the storage bin and puts it back where he found it. The other two are more of the same, memories of his past stored and locked away, nothing of hers is here.

So he moves on, packing away only her things, trying not to dwell as he fills one box after another and for the most part, he’s doing okay following the pattern. Stuff. Seal. Tape. Next one.

Stuff. Seal. Tape. Next one. Again and again until all the closets are emptied, the bedrooms are finished as well as the the kitchen and foyer, leaving only the living room to get through.

Simple. In one arm he carries an empty box adjusting it so it’ll catch her things as he scrapes his hand across the top of shelves and the fireplace. Once it’s loaded to capacity he drops it to the floor carelessly, un-bothered by the damage it may cause and kicks it aside in search of duct tape.

The curtains go next. He rips those down forcefully, snapping the gold rod they hang from in half. He jams all of it inside, handling with care be damned, stopping only to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm before continuing his tirade around the living room with another empty box. It’s almost cleared out. He’s almost scot-free when he comes across the one thing he hasn’t been able to set aside.

It’s a chair. One of those upholstered ones designed for luxury and can only be found at one of those high end locations. It was her first big purchase for their new home and she’d been over the moon about it. It was white with dark wood legs and the padding sunk you in the moment you decided to sit. She designed the whole room around this one piece. It was her favorite as it was his because she always seemed comfortable and happy to see him when he found her here.

Sometimes when it’s late at night, he imagines her. In his dreams the patio doors always sit wide open so he can feel the warm weather on his skin as he passes by. He never knows what day it is but it feels lazy like a Saturday spent at home would as the sun rises, lighting the room naturally, when he sees her. He always sees her first. Always. The formula never changes, but she knows he’s standing there, just above her shoulder but she never looks up, or turns his way instead she links their fingers together and kisses his knuckles one at a time before asking, “What took so long?”

Like she’s been waiting for his return the whole time. Then he wakes up.

He hovers over it, back straight, bone like steel as he glances down. It can’t stay. But, she sat in his lap here. He’s lost count of how many times they’ve closed out their day by watching a movie in this chair and how he could always tell the moment she fell asleep in his arms. He’s kissed her hello and said, “I’ll see you later,” to her sitting in this chair. Never goodbye. If she’s had a stressful day at work, she soaked herself into this chair, sinking low into its cushions and he’d bring her tea or rub her feet as she recounted the events.

But her favorite pastime was roping him in and making love to him in this chair. Here she took absolute control, playing with him and teasing him until he rightfully submitted.

After he proposed, she called to tell her family and friends the good news while sitting this chair. Whenever Tony, their wedding planner, paid a visit Barry could find her parked here. Two days before their wedding he sat under her as she whispered how excited she was for their big day. How she couldn’t wait to become Mrs. Allen. To be his wife. To be his.

“You lied.” He says just an inch shy from the piece of furniture, unable to close the tiny gap just yet. “For three years you said you loved me. But,” his voice cracks, “you lied.”

“If you were scared or if you weren’t ready. I would’ve understood. I would’ve waited but you ripped my chance away. Why?”

“I love you. Why isn’t that enough?”

It can’t give him the answers he needs. He doesn’t expect a response but the gratification he gets is well worth the silence. “Will it ever be enough?”

Closing the inch separating him, Barry falls into the chair for the first time since he returned home wife-less and alone.

* * *

“Is this it?”

Barry drops the last of the boxes marked charity in the back of the moving truck and stands back, waiting and watching for the movers to lock up and drive away. “Here,” Oliver breaks his concentration, propping a cold water bottle into Barry’s hands before dropping to the stone steps, stretching from a hard day’s work. “How do you feel?”

Barry cranes his neck to the side as he falls back on the banister and shrugs, “as you’d expect, I guess - I don’t - I’m not sure how I feel. I don’t really feel anything.”

Oliver nods. “You understand this is for your own good, though, right?”

Barry sighs something close to an agreement while he glances at the quiet streets of suburbia. It checked off all the little squares on their list when they started their hunt and she was all too enthused about its ‘ _great community and excellent school systems for our future family, Barry_ ’ for them to pass up. Now, it was just wasted hopes and dreams of what could've been.

“So what do you want to do? I’m starving, I can get us take-out?”

Barry turns, paces up the stairs one at time and throws a careless “do whatever” in his retreat.  

Inside looks different. Bare. The table next to the door is gone. So are the photos and painting that once lined the walls. The curtains she fell in love with on sight are stripped away as well as the other little knick-knacks she collected. What once was a perfectly coordinated home now stood a skeleton of it’s former self, with only a couch and a big screen television to fill it.

“You can always get new stuff.”

“I know,” Barry doesn’t need to face Oliver to see his stare. He can feel it piercing his skin, can feel it dripping off him in waves and he can hear it clear as day in his voice.

“We can look online now if you want. We’ll get it ordered and here by tomorrow.”

Barry slowly circles the room with his eyes and shakes his head as he brings his hands to his hips, spinning in a little circle to see everything. It’s bigger than what he originally remembered.

“Barry?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to get out of here?” Oliver fiddles with his car keys, offering them like they hold all the answers to Barry’s problems. “We can get a drink, or there’s a game tonight, we can go after we grab a bite to eat. I can finally put those courtside seats to good use or maybe we can catch Cisco and Caitlin and see what they’re up to? I think Cisco mentioned she has a book club meeting or something … but I’ll give her a call. You think she’ll mind? -” Oliver’s running out of things to say. Running out of ways to make Barry better and it’s stifling him.

“What do you want to do?”

After a pause Barry admits the one thing that’s been on his mind since the movers arrived and started removing her things. “She breathed so much life into this place, Oliver.” He ends up outside the skirt of the kitchen, leaning against the wall as he takes his time looking around. At least not much changed here. There are notable differences but not enough for him to dwell on.

“You can still put it on the market.” Oliver says, padding across the room to meet Barry at his side. “We’ll call your realtor and see what she can do. For the time being I can set you up at my place. I’ve got more than enough room but if you want to be alone, a hotel. Whatever you want to do, Barry.”

Barry nods once but doesn’t move.

Oliver reacts the way Barry predicts, supplying another outlet and he’s trying really hard, which Barry appreciates, but he doesn't need Oliver to fix him or his situation.

“Barry?”

“I’m fine.” _Just be my friend and let me have this_. “Really, Oliver. Don’t worry about me.” _Please._

 


	6. falling apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “ _down to my core_.”  
>  \- i fall apart by Post Malone
> 
> much love to **Kats_m3ow** for being an awesome beta. you're the best!  
> ...

Barry almost forgets about her and their scheduled meeting Thursday afternoon. 

“Thanks again,” he shakes hands with important investors and suppliers who are currently on the market and interested in collaborating with Grant & Co. in the near future. Close to wrapping up his outlines and documents into his briefcase, the bell above the door jingles drawing his attention away and he’s not sure what compels him, to this day it’s still an unknown mystery, but his eyes drive up catching sight of her just as she steps into the short line. 

He sits down with a thunk, tucking himself into the cold steel chair and folds his arms across the table. She hasn’t noticed him yet; currently involved in whoever she’s texting on her phone to have scavenged the place, so he takes advantage watching her from afar.

She taps listlessly at her screen before tucking her phone away and glances at the menu board as she steps forward. Her smile is just as beautiful as he remembered, full of pearly whites brightening her features and the teenage barista blushes scarlet as he takes her order.

Barry can’t blame the guy. She is really pretty.

Even the pantsuit she’s dressed in is pretty and so is the neat part in her hair and loose curls draped over her shoulders,  _ everything _ looks perfect. He thinks back to the night at the bar, realizing how not a hair was out of place, how every gesture was more than likely calculated down to a T so he could retain any composure he had left. He blinks at the memory, staggered and a little off kilter, had he really gone home with her? Or was it a dream his imagination conjured up, using a passing face he’d seen in a crowd once? 

Possibly. It’s a far stretch but  _ maybe _ . Yet, as she spins on her heel, slowly scanning the room, their eyes clash and recognition dawns over her, spotting him in the far corner in the back of the coffee shop. She waves first, a small measure of  _ I see you _ and he lifts his palm face out.  _ I see you too _ . 

He gets to his feet at the last second, shamefully taking in the mountain of papers, empty coffee cups and plates littering the table as she approaches with a steaming mug of her own. “Sorry about the mess.”

“Still using that word, I see.”

He ducks his head, wiping the side of his jeans before motioning to the vacant seat across from his. 

“It’s okay, Barry,” she pitches casually as she takes her seat, tilting her head slightly to the side as she does so and purposefully drops her stare for the first time since their eyes connected across a room full of people. 

“Y-You look really nice,” he takes a chance, “business casual looks really nice on you.”

She smirks, humored by his lameness that in reality is actually his attempt at acting like a normal functional member of society, inadvertently displaying shallow dimples made all the more visible the wider it grows. “Thank you.”

He wrings his hands nervously under the table and locks them by the knuckle. “S-So.” _It’s_ _good to see you again_... could seeing her after a random one night stand be classified as such? The verdict is still out on that, it’s all so unclear, “h-how are you?” 

She draws in a breath, squaring her shoulders back, appeasing the swelling tension Barry is becoming intensely aware of and says after a beat; 

“Pregnant.”

Powerless to catch the slight bug of his eyes or the tumbling words spilling from his lips, Barry mutters, “congratulations…” dazed and thoroughly confused. It sounds more like a question than direct affirmation, but what else is he supposed to say?

She tucks her bottom lip in, pops it free and clamps down on it again. Her unease and the fact that she’s growing uncomfortable by the second rolls off her in humongous waves, tells Barry to reassess. 

Lifting her head, she steels herself, squaring her shoulders back and peering into his eyes, she exhales. “Barry-”

“No.” He shakes his head, pronouncing the syllable strongly as the gravity of the situation and why she asked him here today dawns on him. She can’t think... He’s not... “I’m sorry, Iris, but no. I’m not  — It’s just not possible.”

The legs of his chair scrape against the aluminum on the floor as she says, “It’s possible.” Of course it’s _possible_. Basic biology proves such a thing, but he’s not! He can’t be! 

Flagging his hands back and forth between their two bodies, Barry rebukes the entire idea that she,  _ a stranger _ , was currently carrying his… seed. “It was only one time,” Oh god, he sounds like an adolescent learning about the birds and the bees for the first time because  _ of course all it takes is one time _ ! 

“Are you sure it’s mine?”

Her jaw hardens, rounding out the smooth edges he kissed months ago and he fidgets, clearing his throat to rephrase the question, “What I mean is are you sure?”

“Trust me, this comes as just as much a shock to me as it is for you, but you’re the only person I’ve been with since that night.”

And what? He’s suppose to take her word for it?! “I’ve taken just about every pregnancy test available and they all came back with the same result-”

“Those aren't always accurate, you know. A p-positive could be a negative. Those infomercials are always talking about 98 to 99.9 percent. What if you’re that one percent?”

She ignores the last little bit, and presses forward. “I’m positive, I’m sure of it. I wasn’t before.” Iris deflates, shrinking back in her chair, relinquishing a sigh. “So, I made an appointment with my doctor and she confirmed it. I am pregnant, Barry. Seven weeks if you’re counting.”

Barry plants his hands on the table, pushing himself further away. She has to be kidding. This has to be a joke. Ashton is hiding behind the counter, just waiting to burst with the news: ‘You’ve been punked’ but either she’s a great actress or she really is pregnant. But she gives no sign or tell that she’s trying to dupe him, and he has a sinking feeling she’s not that good of an actor. 

“We used a condom.” He whispers loudly, nevermind the old lady sitting next to them (who’s no doubt heard every word of this) or the sense he’s about two seconds away from causing scene, if he hasn't already done so. “We  _ used  _ a condom!”

“Look,” Iris says sternly, taking control of the conversation, foreseeing where it’s hurdling towards and snaps Barry’s attention back to her. She leans into the table, keeping her voice low because like Barry, she’s pretty sure the woman next to them is hanging on every word being said. “I’m not asking you for anything. You don’t even have to be in our lives — I just thought you should know.”

He feels like he’s been punched in the gut with an iron fist. “... So - you’re keeping it?”

Another wrong thing to say. He has to work on that from now on. The what and how in the near future. His heart pounds at the word: future. If she’s telling the truth then he would forever be tied to this woman until the day he died. He feels faint.

“Yes, I think I am.”  

Her hand drops, hovering over her flat stomach as if to lay a protective shield from his stupidity, which is probably a good thing. His eyes flicker up to hers, catching the affectionate glow, clear warmth and adoration for the small life form growing inside of her. She loves it already, he can tell, no matter how unplanned it started out.

“Is this what you want?”

“I think so.”

The world stops as he registers her words. The finality of it is just that, final. Even if he were to walk away right now, in his mind he’d always know that out there somewhere in the world was a person he helped create. He swallows the lump in his throat but it’s too stiff to bear and he’s trying to pay attention, trying to listen to what she’s saying but the radio noise in his ears are far too loud.

Her mouth is moving. He sees them parting, closing and parting again before stopping. She licks her bottom lip, nods and stands up but he still can’t move. Not even a finger and the worst part is that he wants to. The logical part of his brain acknowledges her courage to reach out in the first place and show up and reveal life changing news all on her own - no matter his reaction, no matter how afraid she must have been. Iris still showed up. And he didn’t say anything. 

Someone knocks the back of his chair by accident. They mumble an apology over their shoulder as they continue to trek across the small sitting area in search of a table, and it finally wakes him up. He blinks, and his eyelids feel heavier than usual, almost like they’re being weighed down by an anvil and it takes everything in him to bat them open and focus. He ends up staring at his calloused hands and the stain of ink that never fully washes out but he hardly recognizes them because they don’t feel like his, nothing does. It all feels like an outer body experience that he’s being forced to watch from the sidelines as a strict observer. 

“I’m going to be a father?” he hears a voice he suspects as his own. “A father?”

The old lady beside him sips her tea slowly, “it would seem that way, dear.” 


	7. be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> " _life is not always a comfortable ride._ "  
> -be as you are by Mike Posner
> 
> once again, a huge thank you is owed to **Kats_m3ow** for taking the time to beta. 
> 
> "desert storm" line inspired by Lydia Alvarez from _One Day at a Time_. she's great as well as the entire cast  & show. if you're not already watching it, check it out on netflix.  
> ...

_Friday afternoon_

_-_

**Hi,**

**So after you left, I realized how much of an idiot I was. I’m sorry. I was dumb. I can be that way sometimes.** **You should know that I support whatever decision you decide to make, and I’ll be here for you through everything, whatever or whenever.** **So here's my number: 918-279-0821. Call me anytime if you want to talk or something.**

**Okay, thanks.**

**B**

“Okay, thanks? Barry come on, no.”

“What?”

“I’m not letting you end a message with ‘okay, thanks’ to your baby mama,” Cisco chastises, reaching over Barry's shoulder to press backspace until only ‘B’ is left.

“What difference is that supposed to make?”

Cisco shrugs, “It makes you seem a lot cooler, a lot less stressed, chilled, you know - like a person not completely spazzing.” He says with all the transparency in the world and hits send with one click of his finger. “You’re welcome.”

Barry snaps his laptop shut in a huff and stands up, brushing the stool back as he moves around the island counter. He needs a drink.

“So, what are you going to tell your parents?”

Cisco’s guess is just as good as anyone else's. Come Sunday, Barry can only imagine the conversation held in the Allen household: ‘Hey mom, can you pass the rolls? Thanks, oh and by the way you’re going to be a grandma! Congratulations.’

A nerve jumps at his temple so he pours himself a shot, hoping to drown out the anxiety building in his core, and downs the alcohol in one gulp, wincing when it hits the back of his throat and pours another. “Okay, we’re going to stop doing whatever _this_ is.” Cisco says, reaching over the counter-top, snatching the bottle away.

“The end of my world, that’s what this is.”

Sighing, Cisco amends, “It’s not that bad. You're just in your head.”

“Says the person not caught in a cluster-fuck of what the fucks.”

Gripping the edge of the counter, Barry presses into it and hangs his head. There is just so much to think about or deal with lately and just when he thinks _it can’t possibly get any worse_ something else happens.

And his parents. The impending headache of having to tell his lawyer mother and surgeon father, who expects better from their only begotten son, hits him the moment he’s left the coffee shop. _Not that bad. Not that bad!_ Ha. They shit bricks for weeks when he turned down his father’s precious alma mater for “regular, simple” university.

Now he has to tell them that he has a baby on the way. A real life, little life force that’s half him and a … Iris. They’re going to die squeezing out those bricks.

“I could go with you if you want, maybe drop a few jokes, break up the tension. That sort of thing.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work this time.”

Cisco pads back, slightly offended but not really. “I’ll have you know, your mom thinks I’m hilarious. In fact if there was no Mr. Allen or Caitlin, I’m pretty sure we’d be two hearts parched in a desert storm.”

Barry’s shoulder shake, relaxing for what seems like the first time in ages and he eases back from the counter to laugh. Cisco takes that slip of thread and pulls, “Mi amor she cannot resist. Trust me, we go in, I soften her up, you drop the baby bomb and we’re outta there before your dad can do that scary face thing where he forgets to blink.”

Barry’s full on chuckling now as Cisco conjures up a plan, playing it out like an old spaghetti western starring Barry as the mysterious new kid in town along with his wacky sidekick. It’s noon when he walks into the old tavern, hand ready at the hip as unsuspecting townsfolk appraise him suspiciously but there are only two people that matter; Henry and Nora Allen. High noon plays in the background as they face off two against one and Barry readies his hand, fingers twitching at his holster. A giveaway to the experienced but what they can’t see, what they don’t expect is the stick of dynamite hiding behind his back. And with his trusty companion setting the distraction, Barry tosses it without consequence. “I’m having a baby!”

“Then, _bam_ , everything explodes.”

“Okay, dude, relax. For real, it’s just a baby. Not the apocalypse. Besides, hasn’t your mom been hinting for you to start a family?”

“You mean back when I was supposed to get married?”

“Yeah - okay, so you’re going a bit out of order. That’s life. There are no clear rules on how to do things. They just happen when they’re suppose to and as it would turn out, you were suppose to get this girl knocked up,” taking a bite out of the apple he scavenged from the fruit bowl, Cisco chews and adds, “Everything happens for a reason, dude. Trust me.”

Barry grunts, shoulders sagging as he does and he runs a hand over his face agitated. Nothing about this seems fair. He was doing _everything_ right. He was a good person. He gave to charity and recycled and volunteered during the holiday seasons _but_ some higher being was determined to take him out. It was like they strapped a target to his back and refused to let up until he was done for good.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Cisco.”

“I’m sure no parent does. At least that’s what they say, anyway.” He shrugs, taking another bite. “I think you’re supposed to just wing it, have another one and do better the second time around.”

He pales, picturing two. _Two._ The picture it conjures muffles Cisco’s laughter to background noise but it’s still there, taunting him. “I was kidding, jeez Barry, lighten up.”

If he could, he would but he has to start thinking about things he’s not prepared for, like at all. Diapers and formula. Will they have allergies? School systems and after school programs. Will they have friends? That’s important; kids need friends and good ones. Just like they need good parents. Holy crap, what if he sucks as a dad? What if he does everything one hundred percent wrong and screws them up or destroys their self-esteem or what if he’s too lenient and they end up one of those people just completely unprepared for the real world? _Oh my God_!

“Besides, what if it’s not even yours. This girl, Iris, what exactly do we know about her?”

From what little he finds on Facebook, her name’s Iris West, twenty-six, originally from Keystone. Loves Lucille Ball and is a die hard Cowboys fan. “Not much.”

“Exactly, so what if she’s lying and you're stressing for no reason.”

“You just said things _happen for a reason_.”

“People also lie.” _Crunch. Crunch._ “Maybe she’s a liar.”

Cradling his head in his hands, Barry shakes his head. “I don’t know, Cisco. I don’t know. _Maybe_ but what if she’s not and the kid is mine? I can’t just hide him-”

“- or her.”

“- away until I’m comfortable enough for the big reveal, can I?”

“Guess not. So,” Cisco finishes the apple and tosses the core in the trash, “this means?”

The only thing it could mean. “I have to tell them.”

Which is a lot easier said than done, Barry realizes. Sunday comes in the blink of an eye and before he knows it he’s sitting at the dinner table at his parents’ house, trying to figure out the best way to unload the news.

From the kitchen he can hear his mother giggle like a doe-eyed school girl at something his father must have done or said. _“I hope we’ll continue to love each other like that one day,”_ Becky had said just a little over four months ago sitting in this very room, listening to a similar situation go down.

The balls on that woman.

“Henry,” Nora’s voice precedes her as she makes her way into the dining room carrying a plate of roast chicken with his father close behind, attached to her back, hands perched directly on her hips as he smiles into her neck. “Behave yourself.”

“Oh, come on.” Henry says, planting a quick kiss on her cheek before lifting his head in Barry’s direction. “It’s nothing the boy hasn’t seen, right slugger?”

Barry’s seen more than he cares to admit, but he offers a tight lip smile that wrinkles the side of his eyes and nods.

“See,” Henry’s face lights up in a way he reserves solely for his family, and waits for Nora to take her seat before taking his own. Seated, they hold each other’s hands and start dinner with a prayer, like always. Nevermind they haven't been to church since Barry was a boy but alas it is tradition.

And his parents are nothing without their tradition.

“So, how are things at work, I hope it not too difficult getting back into the swing of things.”

“Besides working through all the pitiful looks? Good.”

“Barry.”

“It’s the truth,” he says around the stab of his fork. “They act like they’ve never seen someone get left on their wedding day before.”

Henry sighs at the head of the table. The first warning. Considering, Barry needs him in a pleasant mood for later, he cuts it short. “But it’s been okay. I guess.”

Skirting vegetables around his plate in silence, he drops his gaze, and worries his bottom lip, drawing his mother’s attention. “Eat,” she encourages but he hasn’t had an appetite since Thursday. “Barry, honey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Nora needs more than just _I’m fine_ to quash the conversation. She’s always been a bit of a mother bear, coddling his father called it, so it’s easier for her to dive headfirst into issues concerning Barry’s well being. “Really, mom.” He lifts the fork to his mouth, taking a bite to appease her, even though he feels like a five year-old about to jump off the tallest board at the deepest end of the pool. He swallows loudly.

His parents exchange looks. They don’t believe him. He knows because it’s the same way they looked at him whenever he offered excuses as explanations. Like missing curfew a handful of times or sneaking Kara Danvers in his room and hiding her in his closet when they come home early. The same look he faced after sitting them down to explain he’d rather not go to Stanford.

“What is it this time?”

“Henry,” Nora’s tone is softer but it’s obvious she wants to know as well.

“Oh, come on Nora. You and I both know whatever he has to say can’t be good. So, what news do you have for us, Bartholomew?”

Full name. Barry tilts his head back, staring briefly at the ceiling before lowering his gaze to the expectant ones of his mother and father. He blinks once, taking his time to collect his thoughts. _Deep breath, Barry._ “Why are you trying to make it seem like I’m a screw up.” _Yes, because straying away from the true purpose of this conversation is such a good idea..._

He doesn’t need to see his father’s face to read _if the shoe fits_ expression flashing across his features to know it’s there. “We don’t think that honey and you know that. We just worry, is this about Rebecca?”

Barry snorts, the small chuckle peeling out of him uncontrollably. He wishes. They’d handle the news better if it were. “Um, no, a-actually,” he snaps his eyes back open and sits up straighter, folding his hands in his lap. It was now or never. Reminding himself of Cisco’s words, it’s a baby. Just a baby - not the end of the world. “Actually, I do have news. Important news as matter of fact.” Clearing his throat, he stares down at his parents, noticing how they steel themselves in preparation as they wait for the next words to come. “News that could - no, that will change the dynamics of our … family.”

He lets the pause sit; taking his time so the next sentence lodged in his throat can form properly. “You see. I’m having a-a…”

“-a ...?”

Barry zooms back and forth between his father and mother and spits it out. “Baby.”

It hangs in the air for a while, registering into thin silence. He gives his parents time to comprehend exactly what he just revealed but it’s deafening and he’s losing patience and it’s not like he’s expecting fireworks or shouts of joy - those reactions actually fall low on the totem pole, he’s leaning more towards disappointment and accusations but the silence sitting like an unwelcome visitor in the Allen household, is not.

“A baby?”

“Are you sure?”

He hasn’t spoken to Iris or asked her to take a paternity test, yet. At the time it seemed insensitive …. not to mention he had to relearn how to work his mouth and limbs afterwards, but he digresses. There’s probably a billion other things he should’ve done or said but that’s all in the past now and it’s too late. “Yes. I’m sure.”

“When? How? Is it Rebecca? Is that why she ran away? Is she - is she back?” Barry shakes his head at every question thrown his way. His mother couldn’t be more off the mark, and to think, more was to come.

“No.”

“No she’s not permanently back? Well … when? She can’t keep it away from you and why wouldn’t she tell you? Does she not want it?”

He cringes at the nouns staining his mother’s lips. His baby wasn’t an ‘it’. Inside of Iris, a little life form was growing and one day it would become a full, fleshed out human being.

“Mom,” he interrupts. She’s digging him into a hole she has no idea she’s burying him into. “I have no clue where she is. I don’t know how she’s doing or where she’s been. I don’t know if she thinks about me or if she’s ever coming back.” Barry furrows a shoulder, crossing his arms. “I don’t know.”

“But the baby?”

“The baby I’m having, is not with … her. Rebecca. She’s someone else.” He was wrong about the dead silence from before. This is what deathly, stony, menacing silence sounds like. He could hear a raindrop splash from a mile away, it’s so quiet.

“Oh.” His mother says. The only one out of the two to say anything since the announcement is made. Barry spies his father out of his peripheral vision, afraid to face him fully and what it could potentially unveil.  

He sits straighter, pulling himself in the wooden chair, bracing himself for what’s to come. At least the hard part was over and depending on their reaction this evening, it could either take a turn for the absolute worse or continue steady down the path it’s headed on. No up. Definitely not. “Look, I didn’t plan this.”

His mother sniveles. It’s the most unladylike sound he’s ever heard her make; it takes him by surprise.

“Or ask for this. But she is and there’s nothing I can do to change it. She - she wants to keep the baby. “And,” - _cough_ \- “I ... guess I do too.”

“You guess?” Henry finally mutters, expressionless and doing that thing where he doesn’t blink and the vein at his temple jumps.

Barry shrinks, “Yeah…”

They really shouldn’t be _that_ mad. He’s not a kid. He doesn’t live at home. He isn’t struggling. In fact, if there was ever a time to have a child, it was now. And if they couldn’t understand that, well, then, he would figure it out on his own.

All by himself. As a single father.

He exhales a heavy sigh he had no clue he’d been holding the entire time. “Wooooooh,” he leans further back in his chair. The power of the words and what they mean hit him at full force. He rubs his palms against the pad of his jeans. Everything is fuzzy around the edges all of sudden.

“Barry!”

“Barry, son, breathe. Son, hey, look at me, Barry. Look at me. Nora, grab his inhaler!”

* * *

He wakes up with a start, eyes jumping open before his body sits up, his chest pumps up and down as he realizes where he is. Pushing back the short hairs stuck to his forehead, he looks around the dark living room to find only the soft glow of the table lamp, highlighting the water and saltine crackers left out for him.

He can’t remember the last time he’s had a panic attack like that. Probably never, or at least so severe he passed out. Reaching over, he lifts two crackers to his mouth and chases it down with water. The blankets fall to his waist and finally the floor as he sits fully up straight when he hears his phone buzz.

 _Zzz. Zzz._ Incoming text from unknown. He taps the screen open. **I’m not looking for a handout. We’ll be fine. -Iris.**

Pressing the screen as close as it can get to his face, he stares at her name, transcribing every letter to memory. “Iris.”

And before he can talk himself out of it, he hits call. It rings twice before she picks up. “Hello.”

“... Hi.”

 


	8. e v o l (VE)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"is dialing up your darling just for callin' her up."_  
>  \- that's love by Chance the Rapper
> 
> once again, a big thank you is owed to **Kats_m3ow** for being an awesome Beta.  
> ...

Barry spots her as soon as she steps foot in the restaurant. He fumbles fixing his tie, anything to focus the anxious energy plowing his nervous system, and stands on shaky legs as she draws near.

“Hi.”

Iris’ slows, taking notice to him standing on one side and the table spaced between them, a divide between their two worlds.

“Hi.”

A gaping pause, palpable enough to pop, stretches as the rest of the world continues to turn inside the quaint restaurant; like time itself is at a standstill the moment she entered the room.

“Um, do you wanna— would you like to sit?” He only moves to his own once she’s comfortably seated. His hands flex at his tie again, still anxious but relieved that she decided to show up without immediately writing him off. “Thank you, again, for agreeing to meet with me.”

Calling her that night petrified him unlike any monster hiding under his bed ever could, but he pushed. He had to. He had to see her. For his benefit, for hers, maybe for both.

“I figured it’s the least I could do.”

Barry tucks his chin, staring blankly at the starch white table cloth, reminding himself to breathe evenly and if he can control that, he can make it through the night no problem. He brings his eyes back to her, “the way I acted last time was unfair. I was caught off guard,” _way off_ “but it doesn’t excuse the way I acted, Iris.”

He doesn’t necessarily ask but she accepts his apology, smiling softly and saying, “You handled it better than I originally expected.”

“Oh?”

She nods, “yeah.” Biting her lip, she admits, “I put all my chips in the ‘lying name calling’ basket.”

And before he can think better of it, he leans forward, ready to share his most sacred secret and whispers, “I’ll have you know I save all my big blow ups for Miners’ games.”

This is the first time he’s made her laugh at something he’s said. A small victory. Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, Iris glances from under her lashes. “Trust me I get it. It’s like they can’t win a game to save their lives.”

“Tell me about it!”

They share a look. An understanding. Hopefully a start to an even playing field.

It’s interrupted by a new presence. “Good evening sir and madam, welcome to _Ze_ Rose. My name is Petre and I’ll be your server this evening. May I start you off with a selection from our specialty crafted wine menu?” He brings a basket full of fresh bread and Italian olive oil along, placing it in the middle of their table next to the candlelight.

This place is a bit swankier than what he’s normally used to. If it were anyone else he’d never willingly to step foot in a place where the staff spelled Peter ‘P E T R E’ and used fake French accents, but he needs to impress Iris.

“I’ll just take a water with lime please.”

Since she can’t drink, neither will he. “I’ll have the same.”

“Appetizers per _hapz_?”

“Um,” Barry considers Iris, questioning if she has preferences while he quickly scans the menu. “Doux boulettes de viande?” which is just another fancy name for meatballs. “Please.”

“Coming right up.”

Petre departs, almost an earshot away, leaving them to their own devices and a building full of conversation from neighboring tables seating friends, lovers or families add pressure that wasn’t fully there a second ago.

Bracing his hands on the table, he blurts out the first thing to come to mind. “I told my parents.” He drops them to his lap, hiding them under the table, away from her perspective and curiosity.

A perfect, manicured brow raises, surprised. Intrigued. A mass of things Barry can’t pinpoint. He rushes to explain further. “I just— they’d find out eventually, you know. I didn’t see the point of keeping it a secret.”

Iris nods, catches the same stubborn curl, tucks it behind her ear and tries to smile but it wavers, easily destructible by a sudden gesture.  

“You? Have you, um, told anyone?”

She’s a mix of yes and no. Nodding first before tapering off with a shake of her head. She clears the throat first and sits up straight. “My best friend.” He assumes they are the only other living soul, minus her doctor, to be privileged to such knowledge. An assumption she proves right when she explains, “I haven’t worked up the courage to tell my family or anyone else yet.”

Petre returns, steadying a tray of drinks. “Here you are. Would you like a few more minutes to consider or are you ready to _orda_?”

“A few more minutes, please.”

“ _Az_ you wish madam.” Petre bows at the waist, backing away from the table. Barry settles for scraping the edge of his ear instead of rolling his eyes.

The menu reads like gibberish but he deciphers the fancy cursive writing as best he can. “Sirloin sounds good.” He says to say anything.

“I‘m not really a big steak eater.” _Okay._ Another reminder that they don’t know each other at all.

“Me either...”

“You don’t have to do that.”

He peers over the menu. She’s looking at hers too but it’s obvious she’s not focused, hardly able to retain the description in front of her. “I’m sorry?”

She glances up, clarifying. “You don’t have to pretend for me.”

Well, dinner together sounded like a good idea. In theory. Before she could read him without batting an eye. Sure, this was an excuse to get to know her quick and easy but not the other way around. Not yet at least.

She orders the chicken, and he gets the same because he definitely can’t order the sirloin now.

Eating in silence is the worst. There's so much to say but anytime Barry dares to open his mouth, she has the same thought and opened hers. Back and forth it went: ‘ _how’s the chicken? Good, yours? Good, thanks._ ’

Thank god for Petre, who checks in regularly. “Would _ze_ lovely couple like to take a glance at our delectable dessert menu?”

“No, I think we’re fine. Thanks.”

So Barry calls for the check. Pays. Stands only after she does and keeps his fair distance as they walk towards the doors. 

And he can’t leave like this. He can’t turn away, hoping she’d keep in contact; give him regular updates on how the baby is doing or tell him about important dates because of one failed dinner. “Are you in a hurry to get home or … anywhere for that matter?”

Tugging the lapels to her jacket closer to her neck, Iris stops, turning to face him with one hand pressing against the door handle. She looks up, past his shoulder to the place they’d come from and decides spending more time him isn’t such a good idea. “I have an early morn-”

“This’ll only take a minute. Please?” He opens the door for her. Outside, he directs her around the building where a small garden is planted. “I read on Yelp they grow locally, people can’t rave enough about it. I thought it was worth checking out.”

It’s more than a small garden. The hills backing the building wind up in greenery, dotted with trees dressed in colorful fruit and red bricks lined the trails below in every direction, some straight while others loop around sectioning spaces open to the public or restricted. In the center a stone fountain sits under a string of Christmas lights illuminating the scenery in its’ entirety like fireflies in the night.

He’s a little jealous, but then again he’s never been much for agricultural architecture.

They drift on different ways. Iris can’t stay away from the fountain, taking a seat on the ledge and running her fingers over the grooves before testing the cool water beneath. Barry watches her from across the path, stumped by how she looks so perfect; that if she held still long enough the picture in front of him would look like art hanging in a gallery, like art Oliver would pay millions for.

“Dinner was great?” It’s a question. There’s no doubt about it but it opens up the discussion, brings him close until they are sharing the same space.

“It was.”

“Maybe later, we can come back? Together. If— if you want. Not that you necessarily need me in order to come back or that you need my permission. Cause you don’t. You can just do...” -cough- “you, boo.”

An internal sigh does not - cannot - accurately express the class A, level one embarrassment steamrolling him right now. More like internal screaming—possible borderline seizure. The jury is still out on it. He called her boo,  _who does that_!?

And Iris she tries her best to hide her smile but it’s impossible, breaking out fully so her round cheeks lift, squinting her eyes until they’re almost not visible.

“Do I make you nervous?”

“A little bit, yeah.” Truth. He actually wants to crawl inside a hole and never come out because he can’t _think_ around her. At all. She’s just so _poised_ and _levelheaded_. How.  _How_?

“This is such an epic fucking fail.” He’s not his best under pressure. Never pretended to be. Once he figures this tiny detail out about himself, he's learned to control it, work past it but occasionally if no one's around to rein him in, he tends to jump off the deep end. “I’m fucking this up, aren't I?”

Iris stays quiet for a moment, takes a deep breath and then, “when I found out I was,” she motions to her stomach, stuck on the word for many reasons. “I was afraid. Terrified.”

“You ... were?”

She remembers the details of the day in vivid detail. How she walked in her doctor's office alone (even though Linda offered plenty of times, basically threatening her with words to call if she needed absolutely anything or if she changed her mind). How her doctor confirmed what she already knew and how she felt the wind bring knocked out of her when realization set in. “Dr. Garner was grinning from ear to ear, congratulating me, saying me how happy I must feel and what a gift it is especially for first time mothers. To my face. Like I had any right to feel that way at all." Iris pauses, considering her next words with caution. "And then there was you.”

Barry swallows, no matter how dry his mouth is right now. It’s all he can do.

“I thought about how you’d react. How I would tell you but always, always prepare myself for the worse no matter the outcome. Forcing myself to stay when all I wanted to do was run away from this sudden responsibility I had not only to you but for this —my— _our_ baby. I stressed myself out for days, I mean what was I going to say when they asked me about you? How could I honestly tell them,” her voice slips, lips twisting in emotion, “why you aren't around or who you are.” It’s painful to admit, troubling every word passing through her lips but one day it’s a conversation she knows she’ll have to have. Not might, will. That’s the hard truth in all of this. Kids wanted to know about their parents, and any day now they’d realize half of their family was missing. It was inevitable.

“I’m lucky Linda was there to talk me through it. She’s actually the one that made me get in contact you in the first place.”

“Linda?”

“The best friend.”

Barry’s nods, stuck in the same spot he started in when he walked over. A thought occurs, “would you have otherwise? Told me. If Linda hadn’t pushed you. Would you have told me? Ever?”

“A week ago, would you have wanted me to?”

“That’s not the point,” and they both know it. No matter how all of this started or how it turned out, he still had a right. Didn’t he? “Iris?”

“I don’t know.” Three words tell him everything he needs to know. Everything matters now. Who he is. Who she is. It all depends on how the person growing inside her will grow and evolve and if her worst fear came to life, it would all fall on her. From here on out everything would. “I wish I could tell you different Barry but I can’t.”

The nagging voice in his head tells him to think about things from her point of view. Tells him not to get upset, blow up and do something stupid that he would later regret. That even though she had at one point considered keeping this away from him that it was her body, her life, her choice.

He falls into the space beside her. “I’m not a dick.” He wants to make that clear. Pretty words as far as either of them concerned without actions proving differently, but his intentions are good. Always good. “I would’ve -. I _am_ going to do the right thing. For the baby. For you.”

“So what, are you going to ask me to marry you next?”

Barry balks, eyes bulging at the word in what he hopes is a passing flinch but of course, Iris notices.

“I was joking.”

He sighs once, twice. A few times after. “... funny.”

Iris turns back out to the garden, taking in its emptiness save for the two, impressed how it exudes life even in the low light and dark backdrop. Listened as the water trickled down to the pool below it, calming in the wind blowing. “When I was growing up I used to want a place like this. Nothing big, just something to come home to after a long day. I’d grab a glass of wine and escape to the backyard so I could put my feet up and rest under the stars.” Her laughter is light almost soundless, “even though the thought of gardening exhausts me and I’d probably die trying to grow anything but I had it all mapped out. I’d grow oranges in a huge tree I planted myself and all of my herbs because food taste so much better the fresher they are. I’d have tomatoes, onions - basically the whole produce aisle and I'd have one of those big floppy hats my grandmother used to wear when she tended to hers. I imagined it’d soothe me once I got the hang of it.” Turning to face him, she braves reaching for his hand, lacing them together. “Do you have a place like that?”

No place has ever completely calmed him. There was always an edge that never allowed him to settle. “I don’t think so, no.”

She squeezes his hand, a reassurance that in the end it would be okay. They’d work on it to see it come into fruition. They sit quietly after that, soaking in each others presence, getting used to it, accepting its' existence. 

It's not until Barry walks Iris to her car does she offer him another out as she unlocks the doors.“I don't want you to feel pressured, Barry. If this is something you’re not ready for then, well, I won't be mad.”

A smirk lifts a corner of his mouth. “Really?”

“Okay, maybe at first but I’ll learn to get over it.”

“Well I don’t want you to get over it and I don’t want you giving me outs or making excuses for me. Hold me accountable, Iris. I want you to.” He’s so much taller than her, looking down isn’t a big deal but he keeps going further to where a bump is starting growing. To his son or his daughter. And he wanted nothing more than to be a part of their life. “You can trust me Iris. I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

He’s never been more positive, never felt so determined to get this right. He has no clue how to be a father or how to be a good parent; not even a decent one but they have books on how to do that and podcasts. He could read and listen, ask questions if needed. He could do this. He was going to come hell or high water. “Absolutely.”

“Alright, I guess I have to hold you to your word then.”

Iris unfolds her arms, bringing her hand forward so they can shake on it. “It’s a reliable one. I guarantee it.”

“Have a good night Barry.”

“You too, oh um, here let me get that for you.” He makes for her door at the same time she reaches.

“Thank you Barry.”

“You’re welcome Iris.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night,” he’s about to close the door and step back onto the sidewalk when he ask out of the blue if she’d like to join him and his friends next Saturday. It's strictly done on impulse but he’d just really like to see her again. Somewhere not so uptight, some place he can relax and be himself.

“If you can come it’ll give you a chance to meet everyone. There's not a lot of us, in fact you’ve already met two-thirds the night at the bar … and you can bring your friend Linda or whoever else you want. I just think since we are going to do this then we should get used to being around each other, that sort of thing. If — if you’re up for it?”

He’s well aware that her answer could either make or break what he’s striving for but he waits patiently, right on the cusp while she mulls it over.

“Yes. Sure, okay.”

“Yes?”

Iris nods, “yes.”

“Okay,” he pulls away, smiling, feeling mildly accomplished — giddy even. “Okay,” he says more firmly. “Great, I’ll text you the details.”


	9. protectors & friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"i get by with a little help from my friends."_  
>  \- with a little help from my friends (cover) by The Maine feat. Lydia & Arkells 
> 
> thank you **Kats_m3ow**. you always come through.  
> ...

Oliver’s booked to his ears in board meetings and whatever else multi billionaires do throughout the week, Barry's lucky to catch him free for twenty minutes at lunch. With him, he brings hope, Big Belly Burger and plans for the weekend as he drops the news.

“A baby?”

Barry nods, sure to keep strong eye contact even as his chin drops. “Yeah. Yup. A baby.”

“A real one?”

“Is there any other kind?” A lingering silence inserts itself, washing over every available surface in the office until Oliver breaks it, the leather chair cracks as he leans back.

“Please don’t tell me it’s... _her_.”

“No. Not her. Um, actually — do you remember the woman from the bar, Iris?”

A cocked brow and eye twitch later, Oliver stutters, “I-Iris?” A stretched out sigh follows afterwards. The chair cracks again, leaning back further he knocks his knuckles against his forehead, frustrated. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuckkk,” a little louder. “Fuckkkkk!”

For the next hour Barry watches Oliver go red in the face, the vein in his neck close to bursting as he screams obscenities that’d put Jules Winnfield to shame. It must be a pretty picture for his staff to see right outside the glass walls of his office.

“Are you crazy! She’s going to take you for everything you're worth!” Oliver stops mid stride because he’s pacing, and Barry figures now is as good as any chance to get a word in, no such luck. “How could you be so stupid, you’re still trying to get over the last one and you go and get another one pregnant Barry, are you fucking kidding me!”

“They have names. Try again.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“It kinda is, you didn’t knock her up. Why are you flipping out?”

“Why aren’t you?!”

Been there, done that. Still doing it — but he won’t tell Oliver. The less people know about the cycle of constant panic, the better. “I trust her Oliver.” Maybe not with his life but enough not to lie.

Oliver collapses back against the edge of his desk, hanging his head. His shoulders drop; Barry would like to take it as a good sign instead of what it really is. “Yeah, Barry. I know.” Tiredly he admits, “that’s the problem.”

Caitlin takes the news better. After the initial shock wears off, she morphs back into collected Dr. Caitlin Snow once again as she sips her iced coffee in the hospital's cafeteria.

“I guess some sort of congratulations are in order?”

“Yeah, I — I guess.”

“Well,” she says, fondly reaching across the table to hold his hand. “Congrats.”

“Thanks — thank you.”

Her smile remains genuine as she squeezes his hand before letting go to ask, “How are you feeling, I mean. First time dad, pretty big deal, eh?”

“Oh my god, so you get it!”

Her lips draw down, curling back, “ _well,_ not exactly on the same level … but sure, let's go with that.”

Barry rolls his eyes playfully, she was never good at being subtle. “Walk me out?” and she does, hugging him in the lobby as he carefully asks, “and you're okay with meeting her Saturday?”

She makes a noncommittal noise, waves and heads back to finish her rounds.

Barry takes what he can get.

So here they are. It’s Saturday afternoon and there isn't a cloud in the sky setting the park up for a perfect day out for family, friends and meeting potential lifelong friends.

“What time are they supposed to be here?” Oliver spews, kicking at the grass in his boat shoes, staining them with mud.  

“Bro, chillax. We just got here five minutes ago.”

“We agreed on 1:30.”

Cisco folds his arms, judging Oliver’s impatience from across the table. “It’s 1:32.”

“I _know_ what time it is!”

“Guys,” a massive stress headache was starting to form right behind his eyes, but he pushed on. “What did we agree on?”

“He started it.”

Oliver cuts his gaze, cool blue eyes vexed. “So don’t make me finish it.”

“Finish it…?” Cisco mocks, “can you believe this guy?”

The same hand pressing against Barry temple treks through his hair, pulling. Caitlin catches his eye, noticing the silent plea for help.

“What do you want me to do about it?” She mouths.

Act normal. Be civilized. That’s all he asked but really, he should’ve known. You don’t tell Oliver Queen you’re suddenly expecting and not see this coming. “Guys,” claps his hand, trying to garner their attention. “Please.” _Please work with me because I need this to work. Please stop fighting. Please be cool._

Cisco cracks first, smiles tightly and helps Caitlin unpack the picnic basket even though Barry can tell it’s killing him on the inside.

“Thank you.” Turning expectantly to Oliver, Barry waits.

“I can have a full background check on her within a day.”

“Oliver.”

“An hour tops.”

“Oliver!”

A car horn halts the conversation. A black jeep turns into the empty parking spot right up front and Iris pops out from the passenger side. Oliver groans as Barry starts in her direction, “fucking hell.”  

Barry slows to a walk the closer her gets, shyly waving before stuffing his hands deep in his back pockets. “Hi, Iris. Hi.”

Iris tucks a loose curl behind her ear, smiling, twirling the grocery store bag in her other hand and takes him in, starting with his beat-up converse, dark jeans and t-shirt. Barry’s no better, fully appreciating the white floral dress that looked like it was made exactly for her when someone clears their throat loudly, bursting the bubble they created.

“Oh, um. Barry, this is my best friend Linda. Linda this is-”

“The baby daddy.”

Wincing, Barry nods, putting a brave face. “Something like that, yeah. It’s nice to meet you Linda. Thanks for coming.”

Linda eyes him, starting at the top of his head and drags her eyes way down, openly evaluating him. He gulps, holding still as the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Finally, she sucks her teeth and mutters, “we’ll see.”

Grabbing bags from the back seat, Linda stomps across the field to where his friends wait, trying not to stare but failing miserably. Barry glances down at Iris, brow lifting with a million questions. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. You’re fine. Linda can just be overprotective. More bark than bite, promise.”

Skeptical but willing to take her word for it, Barry nods, offering to unload the rest of the vehicle then heading towards the table. “You’ve met Cisco already but this is Caitlin. Cait, this is Iris and her friend Linda.” As they exchange hellos Barry looks at Cisco, questioning Oliver’s whereabouts and the shorter of the two points over his shoulder. “And that brooding figure isolating himself under a tree is Oliver.”

At once they all turn to find Oliver leaning against the trunk, un-wavered by the sets of eyes looking in his direction.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s-”

“Just-”

“Oliver.” All three say. Barry and Cisco excuses themselves while Caitlin explains, “he’s not huge on change.”

Cisco gets right in his face, “What’s your problem now?”

“I don't like her.”

“You haven’t given her a chance.” Cisco argues. “And you liked her just fine a few months ago.”

Oliver doesn’t budge, furthering Barry’s frustration.

“Not today, Oliver. I need this to work.”

A few feet away Barry hears Iris giggle and he turns in time to see her cover her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to compose herself. The image becomes brighter, birds chirp louder and the people, their pets and everything else blur into the background.

Oliver shakes his head, crossing his arms, staring at the same picture but seeing a different scene entirely. One of the future, where Barry is back to square one with a kid to care for.  

“No.”

“No?”

If he has to be the bad guy, then so be it. Heed my advice. You’ll regret it. The list goes on and on. “As in no. Don’t get yourself sucked into this … this … this idea that things will turn out with a happy ending. Because it won't. Women like her-”

“Oliver.”

“ _Women_ like her are no good, Barry. Do not trust her.”

Barry sniffs, decision made. He’d hoped, he wished but he can't have this negativity around Iris or the baby. “Leave.”

Cisco’s breath whooshes out of his lungs, shocked but not nearly as much as Oliver who straightens, dropping his arms at his side. “What?”

“You heard me, Oliver. If you don’t want to be here, leave.”

“You’re choosing her over me? Your best friend!”

“ _One_ ,” Cisco interjects. “One of his best friends.” As both men stare him down, he surrenders. “We’ll save this for later. I’m shutting up now. Pretend I’m not here, carry on.”

With the world at his fingertips, Oliver’s presence came across as larger than life, forcing people under his thumb when they disagreed or didn’t do exactly as he said. His friends were no exception.

Barry holds his ground. “This isn’t about you.”

“I never said it was about me!” Oliver argued, hackles rising. Barry does his best to ignore it, keeping his cool.

“It’s not about me, her or anyone else. It’s about our kid, _my_ kid. And I’m not going to standby while you disrespect her. So leave, Oliver. Leave.”

Cisco stands beside Oliver, both watching Barry cross the field to Iris’ side, greeting each other shyly. Cisco looks up, swiping a windblown lock of hair behind his ear. “Advice?” He won’t take it, Cisco offers anyway because he needs to hear it. “Get on board.”

“No. Listen,” he starts waving him off the minute Oliver opens his mouth. “It’s an adjustment for all of us. Believe me, when Barry told me I freaked out. My insides were a mess and I may have hyperventilated in the car — what, don’t look at me like that — it happens. The point is, is if I’m freaking out, imagine how he’s feeling.”

Oliver sighs, watching Barry awkwardly fumble his way through a story in front of Iris across the table, face as red as his shirt. Idiot.  

“And let’s be honest. This is Barry we’re talking about. Barry who walks into doors, walls and swimming pools if he’s not paying attention. Do you really think he’s going to able to handle a baby all by himself.” Cisco smirks, thumping Oliver’s chest. “C’mon, man. You and I both know he’s going to need all the help he can get.”

There, done. Glad he got that off his chest, he waits for Oliver to pat him proudly on the back, complimenting him with something along the lines of ‘You're right Cisco. Brilliant. There’s a reason why we all look up to you.’ but no go. “Alright then, good talk. Oh, before I forget,” he adds, “dibs on being godfather!”

At the table, Cisco finds the girls and Barry talking among themselves, food untouched as they wait for the spares to join. Barry checks with Cisco, he raises an eyebrow in return lifting one shoulder and drops down next to his fiancée, turning his full attention to Iris.

“Where you from? Got any siblings? What school did you go to? No, wait - did you go to college. I didn’t want to. I mean I like school. I did okay in school but school’s not for everyone but my parents pulled the “we’ve done everything for you” card so I went. Your parents ever do that to you? _Sucks_.”

“I-”

“I’m glad I went though, ‘cause I met the most amazing woman. The girl of my dreams.” He drapes an arm over Caitlin, pulling her close and kisses her cheek. “You know we were actually talking about having a few mini-mes after we get married. Guess you guys beat us to the punch though.”

“Yeah-”

“Babies change so much, like everything. In hindsight, this is a good thing, like having a practice run.”

“Um-”

“What about genders, girl? Oh,” snapping his fingers, he burst, “names? Barry, dude, what if you have a little guy? Bartholomew junior?”

Iris grins, perching her chin in the palm of her hand. She turns to Barry. “Bartholomew, huh?”

Blushing, he stutters. “Family name. Whatever name you want, though, is fine by me.”

“Me too!” Cisco intervenes, “although I am partial to _Francisco_ _or Francesca_. Because, c’mon, let’s be honest I’m going to be the greatest uncle ever to exist so having a little sobrina or sobrino as my namesake is just the cherry on top of the cake.”

Barry apologizes as best he can without saying so much as a word aloud, hoping Iris notices how his eyes bug comically, dimples deepening the further his smile stretches. Sorry, he mouths, counting the bat of her eyelashes as she smothers her grin behind her hand.

“I like kids so I’m always down for babysitting. Plus, I’ve got a bunch of life hacks just swimmin’ around the old noggin _like_ how cereal tastes a thousand percent better in chocolate milk. Why Ross and Rachel are not the healthy OTP goals everyone thinks they are. And why Taco Bell is garbage.”

“Cisco,” Caitlin places a hand on his arm, drawing him back, “honey, slow down.”

Cisco’s smiling so hard, Caitlin’s afraid he’s going to pass out from the thrill. She uncaps a water bottle and passes it to him. “Sorry, I admit. I’m a little excited. I can’t believe Barry’s having a kid, a real life little person.”

“I wouldn't necessarily say he’s _having_ this baby.” Iris jokes, spurring laughter out of everyone. Even Linda who’s been scowling at Barry the whole time, chuckles.

“You have a sense of humor.” Cisco rejoices, swooning at the discovery. “Dude, bro. She’s perfect. You’re perfect.” Looking at Barry, he gives him two big thumbs up. “This could’ve turned into another Reb - _ow_!” Squirming, he looks under the table, discovering a heel digging into his shoe and the owner of said heel, icy blue eyes slit in forewarning.

“I mean … Barry’s dated some real snoozers in the past - _ow_! What? What’d I say now?”

Linda and Iris share a look. The former training her eyes for Barry’s reaction, detecting his sudden stiffness and the silent conversation happening between the couple at the head of the table, getting more suspicious of the nervous laughter spilling out of Caitlin’s perfectly, polished forced smile.  “Ever the blabbermouth. Don’t worry, you’ll grow used to it.”

Loosening the strain in the climbing atmosphere, Iris waves the awkwardness aside, smiling brightly as if nothing had been said.

“Pretty sure we’ve all been there once or twice.”

“Really,” a voice beckons.

“Did you plan on conceiving with them as well?”

“Oliver!” Barry shouts, one of the many echoing around the table, horrified by what could come next, worried by the dent forming in the middle of Iris’ T-zone.

“Excuse me,” he says, lost in a sea of echoes from others around him.

“You don’t have to answer that. Please don’t answer that.”

“Where the hell do you get off asking my friend a question like that, jerk!” Linda jumps to her feet. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“ _Sweetheart_ , I was simply asking your friend a question. That’s why we’re all here, right? To get to know each other.”

“Don’t patronize me you piece of shi-”

“Guys! ... Ladies, calm down.” This conversation was heading south quickly and while Barry tries to distract Iris, Cisco works on defusing the situation. “We’re friends here. Let’s just act cool, Oliver - Oliver. Linda.”

“He’s interrogating my friend, and you’re telling me to calm down! Don’t tell me to calm down.”

Broaching the table, Oliver plants his hands flat against the surface and leans down, and speaks slowly. “Like I said, _sweetheart_. I’m asking a question. Can you understand me now?”

“Yousonofbitch!” Linda clears the table, swinging her fist.

A nice day in the park with his friends and Iris, maybe a walk on the trails getting to know each other once his friends could be trusted alone with Linda and enough of Cisco’s homemade cake pops until his belly hurt, that’s all he wanted out of today.

Nothing big. Nothing major. Simple, easy request.

Yet instead, he’s scowling, shoulders hunched over. Trying to connect how his plan could’ve turned sour so quickly, when things were going decently and the only answer, the only conclusion he could come to was Oliver Jonas Queen.

“You were supposed to go home.”

Battered, bruised and mildly ashamed, Oliver presses the makeshift ice pack to jaw. “I never said I was leaving.”

“I told you to leave.”

“I know what you said-”

“I told you to leave, Oliver. Why didn’t you leave?”

Barry’s voice pitches, rising the angrier he gets. “All you had to do was listen. For once in your goddamn life why didn’t you just do what I asked?!”

“And do what? Just sit by and watch you ruin your life?”

His legs bounce anxiously. The anger brewing in that one leg, plowing the sand beneath his feet. Ruining his life, he scoffs. “You’re ruining everything!”   

“I’m protecting you!”

That does it. He can’t take it anymore, slapping the seat of the park bench so hard his palm stings, Barry spits. “From what?”

“Yourself!” The ice pack drops, water and melted cubes spilling out onto the sand, crunching under Oliver's boots as he rises to his feet. “You don’t see it but I do and Barry, you’re going to end up hurt, again. But you can’t see it, can you? You're too blinded by this woman and this baby that we don't even know if it's yours. Can’t you see how dumb you’re being?”

“I don’t need your damn protection Oliver. I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh really?”

Shoving Oliver in the shoulder, Barry affirms.

“Really.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” He shoves him again. “Really.”

“Then what’s her last name, Barry? What does she do for a living, Barry? Huh, what the fuck do you know about her, Barry?” Oliver shoves him back squarely in the chest, previous pain forgotten, ready for another fight and Barry can sense it.  

And if he’s looking, Barry’s more than ready to deliver.

“Hey, _hey_ , cut it out. Jesus guys! What the hell has gotten into everyone? Damn.” Cisco, puts himself in the middle, pushing against his friends to separate the shoving contest happening on the edge of the sandlot.

“Whatever,” Barry slaps Cisco’s hand away, walking away from Oliver’s retorting, “whatever? Okay, _okay_. Fine! Walk away but don’t come crying to me when you realize I told you so, Barry.”

He manages to cool off, not completely, but mostly when he finds Iris leaning against the car door talking to Linda with another makeshift ice-pack wrapped around her knuckles. He doesn’t hear their full conversation but catches Iris’ harsh “you’re unbelievable,” and Linda’s “he deserved it,” response.

Barry can’t say he disagrees. Announcing himself, the girls halt their conversation and Barry rushes into another apology. He can’t seem to stop apologizing but he doesn't know what else to do.

“It’s fine. Barry, really.”

“No, it’s not. Oliver was way out of line and you both deserve an apology. Linda,” he looks towards her, at a loss for what to say or a reason for Oliver’s behavior because there is none. “Linda, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Barry. But we should go.”

“Iris, no. You don’t have to leave. He’s leaving.”

“I know, but Linda’s hand is swollen and I think she fractured something.”

“Then let me grab Caitlin. She’s a doctor, I can have her check it out no problem.”

“No, it’s alright Barry, really.” He gets the sense that it’s not. It’s the furthest thing from okay. “I’ll call you later?”

He doesn’t believe her.

Fucking Oliver.

A second passes and he nods, relenting. “Yeah, okay.” He walks her to the driver side and opens the door for her. He waves to Linda, “it was nice meeting you.” She doesn’t wave back. Doesn't smile. Doesn't say anything. Unsure if that’s a good or a bad sign, he steps back onto the curb, watching them pull away and disappear off in the distance. **  
**


	10. their joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _i thank you for choosing me, to come through unto life to be a beautiful reflection of his grace._ "  
> \- to zion by Lauryn Hill
> 
> thank you **Kats_m3ow**.  
> ...

“Good morning Iris.”

Iris is greeted by her and Linda’s personal assistant, Kendra, the moment her heels click through the doors. “Here you go!” A travel mug filled to the brim with some concoction Linda has instructed Kendra to pick up from a vegan food truck is shoved in her direction. Kendra, sympathetic to Iris’ lack of caffeine, does her best to make it sound appetizing but to no use. Iris hates kale more than she hates carrots.

_“If I catch a whiff of coffee in her direction, everyone is fired!” “Linda! She’s kidding, she’s kidding. Your jobs are safe.”_

“The suppliers are on their way in by the next half-hour. I’ve also confirmed your doctor's appointment and informed the staff you’d be on call this afternoon. I told them if they have any questions to address it in the staff meeting-”

Wait. “On call?”

Kendra smiled. “This morning Linda said you were taking an early leave...” Her smile falters around the edges, “should I send out another one?”

“No. Um, no. W-where is Linda?”

Kendra points to the double doors centered in the far back, “boardroom.”

Grabbing the pile of folders Kendra has to offer, Iris sets a straight target, making a beeline for the double glass doors emboldened in big white letters spelling out ParkWest Outfitters.

Seven years ago, ParkWest was a dream shared between friends, starting off in a cramped dorm room late at night when Iris decided to go out on a limb and upload their first piece on social media. They weren’t looking to sell, per se, just testing the waters to get a legit feel on what people thought. _“One hundred likes, Iris! Do you know what this means?” Linda screeched, jumping on Iris’ bed. “They like our stuff. They like it!”_ A business plan and a hefty loan from their parents later, Iris and Linda officially went into business together. Watching their little business take off and grow into what it is today was Iris’ pride and joy. She wouldn’t trade all the late nights, sweat, tears and agony in the world for it.

If there was anyone in the world who knew that, her best friend should.

“Morning. Morning!” Linda pops up the second Iris emerges, taking her by the shoulders and attempting to ease her into the nearest chair. The rambunctious morning attitude mixed with Linda making judgment calls without her consent has Iris annoyed, and it shows as she brushes her hands away.

“Linda.”

“Sit. Sit. Sit.” Linda swirls the chair around, batting pretty eyelashes over big brown eyes and _damnit_ \- Iris caves, reaching new levels of lividness at how she can be so frustrating and lovable all at the same time.

“So...”

First things first. “Do you want to explain why I’m taking a half-day,” Iris cuts her off, raising a hand as Linda readies herself with what she thinks is a valid defense and proceeds, “or do you finally want to talk about Saturday? Take your pick.”

A full twenty-four hours passed without Iris murmuring a word, not one single criticism passed Iris’ lips but _now_ since Linda was taking it upon herself to “handle” her, it seemed like the perfect time.

Except Linda never misses a beat. “What’s to explain? Talk shit, get hit. Next?”

“Deciding to put my time in without consulting me?”

“You’re working from home,” Linda pacified with a wave of her hand. “You’ll only be gone for half a day, besides you constantly complain about how you spend too much time here. If there was ever a time to relax,” she finishes off, emphasizing Iris’ modest bump slash current predicament.

“That doesn’t mean you can go around hitting people!” Scatterbrained, Iris is all over the place. That much is made clear by Linda’s pause, backtracking. “Or - or scheduling time off without talking to me first.”

“Make up your mind!” Exasperated, she falls in opposite Iris, kicking her feet out and succumbing to Iris’s scrutiny. “ … his friend is a moron. He deserved it, you and I both know it.”

“That still doesn’t excuse-”

“Not talking to you. I know. I know.” Linda sits up, crossing her arms over the table and frowns. “But your best friend only ever has one first pregnancy go around and I just want to make sure it’s perfect, Iris. I don’t want you overworking yourself or stressing when I can carry the majority load for the next few months. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. I’m sorry.”

Her heart screams, best friend, spouting forth actual tears that are super hard to blink back. If it had been anyone else Iris would’ve been embarrassed out of her mind. Stupid friggin’ pregnancy emotions.

To Linda account, she isn’t faring any better, turning into a sobbing mess in her own right. “Forgive me?” And of course, Iris does. There isn’t a universe where she wouldn’t. “This doesn’t mean you can go around punching people on my behalf just because you don’t like what they have to say about me.”

Linda hiccups, “I make no promises.”

_Good enough._

They hug it out. Linda squeezes her extra tight, somehow hoping to translate that she really is sorry and Iris understands, clutching her just as hard. Seated, Linda suggests they grab an early lunch before her doctor's appointment. “Where do you want to go?” She asks, opening the restaurant app (recently downloaded for Iris’ health eating benefit) on her phone and starts exploring.

Presenting a hurdle Iris forgot to mention. “I, actually ... invited Barry to join me today.” _Cough_.

Scrolling, Linda selects a bistro not far and quickly scans the menu before showing Iris. “This place looks good.”

“Did you hear me?”

Linda nods, tapping the back button to continue her search. A bacon turkey bravo from Panera sounds good right about now, _hmm_ …

“Linda?”

Tapping the app to close, Linda blinks and looks up.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yeah, so - fine. The baby daddy’s coming along. What’s that got to do with me?”

“His name's Barry. And I think it’s a good idea if you stayed behind on this one.” Especially after what happened Saturday. “Only until I smooth things over with him.”

Stifled, Linda takes a full minute to find her voice, “you serious?”

Kendra, thank her soul, deftly interrupts the conversation. “Harrison and Tess are here. Would you like me to send them in?”

“Yes, thank you, Kendra.” Iris says, waiting as Kendra slips away before stopping Linda dead in her tracks. “Later.”

Linda stares her down the entire meeting.

The door to her personal office barely latches when Linda stampedes her way in. “You can’t outrun me.” _Slam_. “You’re pregnant!”

Iris wipes around, “tell all of Central City why dontcha!” Peeling back the blinds, she peeks out of the floor to ceiling office window facing the floor, searching for random passersbys and nosy ears. Her parents were known to appear unannounced as well as her kid brother, and while she could trust Wally not to make a scene - her mother and father, not so much.

She was still trying to figure out the best way to break the news.

When the coast is clear, she sighs relieved, and makes a path to her desk. Linda firmly on her heels crosses the room with her. “And you forgot this!” She says, producing the travel mug in all of its disgusting glory.

Iris scowls. “How about we talk about the staff meeting instead?”

“ _Or_ , and this is me just spit ballin’ here … how about we go back to how I’ve been uninvited to your doctor’s appointment. What’s next? Your baby shower. Godmother privileges, I mean damn Iris!”

If there was one thing Linda Park was good at, it was taking situations and escalating them to all new imaginative heights.

“No one is booting you out, Linda c’mon. Don’t you think you’re taking this out of proportion?”

“Am I? I mean really, Iris. Him?!”

“He’s not a stranger I found on the street, Jesus Linda, what did you expect me to do?”

 Muddled, Linda seizes, voice trapped inside her throat. “And aren't you the one that pushed me to tell him?” Weeks and weeks of pushing, Iris recalled. “Now that he knows, he wants to be included. This is a good thing.”

“I say dumb shit. We know this about me.”

Laughing, Iris clicks open her Outlook, reminding Linda, “he’s the father.”

“Baby daddy.”

“Either way, he wants to be present.” And secretly, she’s kinda overjoyed by it. Having a kid is hard business. At least with two people stirring the boat, it’ll be a lot easier to navigate. “What was I supposed to do, cut him off and leave him without a choice?”

Linda smacks her lips, looking away.

“Lin.”

She mops like a five-year-old, Iris thinks. Troubled lip and all.

“He says I can trust him.”

Linda almost shouts. “And his word is good enough? Just like that!”

Until proven otherwise … yes. It was unlike her, but Iris was going to stubbornly hold firm on her decision. Of course, there are risk and consequences in putting her faith in him but he says he’s worth it. He promised. She was choosing to believe him.

“Iris. _Iris_!”

“ … hmm?”

“Please tell me you’re kidding ...”

Utilizing her work as distraction, Iris shrugs, doing everything in her power to ignore Linda layering her office space in crippling doubt even going as far to seep into the tile grooves lining the floors.

“He’s nice.”

Bourbon brown eyes blaze, lighting in horror, flashing in and out as her mouth drops. “Nice?”

“The staff meeting?”

Is the last thing on Linda’s mind right now. Nice? _Nice_. Puppies are nice. The old lady who casually drops in but never buys anything is cheap - but nice. For all they know, Barry is a closeted nutcase just waiting to strike. Just like his asshole friend.

“Iris, focus.”

I’m starting to feel like I’m the only one doing so, Iris thinks, scribbling notes in the margin of her planner. _Progress. Incoming proposals. **company expansion…?_

“Iris.”

“What?” She replies, sounding tired to her own ears.

“Are you sure about this? Like, totally sure about him?”

Who could be certain of anything nowadays? Certainly not the protection prevention statistics. The only thing in recent history to come to mind was a glaring ‘+’ sign flashing back at her on a white and pink stick.

And so she breaks, her heart lodged in her throat. “I don't have a choice.”

“Except you do.”

Doesn’t feel like it. Not lately. The day she meets him it dawns on her that every decision she made for the next eighteen years would directly affect two people. Whether it was good or bad it would determine her relationship with Barry and their baby. “Adding another person in context only strips it away more.”

She could tell the idea never presented itself to Linda as her high cheek bones drain of color, sinking her further into herself as she process and finally Linda sighs, relenting. “Fine.” Another sigh, “ _I_ guess it’s okay if the baby daddy tags along this time.”

This time it’s Iris who initiates the bone crushing hug, trapping Linda’s arms at her side as she splutters behind Iris’ hair. “Just remember to take pepper spray.”

“Okay Linda.”

“And you’ll call me if you need anything?”

“Of course.”

“And after?”

Iris bites her smile back. “Sure.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I know.”

After a short briefing of things left to do Linda switches Iris’ office for her own down the hall, warning Iris to finish the smoothie and eat. Eat she could do but the liquid garbage melting on the coaster sitting on her desk would have to wait.

Leaving her time to think. A lot more so than beforehand. Until recently, her number one concern was her and Linda’s success. How they could grow ParkWest into the biggest brand the fashion world has ever seen, but now a baby with green eyes and scattered freckles appears in the forefront. Would they inherit her curls, share his crooked smile or be a carbon copy of her?

Her insides pitter-patter at the thought of having a little mini-me running around, giggling like her, having a strong work ethic like her and becoming a good human just like her. She smiles all through the rest of the morning, sidetracked in meetings, phone conferences and on her way to her doctor's appointment waiting for her name to be called.

With five minutes to spare, Barry strolls in, quickly surveys the room and excuses himself through a throng of seated people to where Iris is sitting. She gestures to the chair on her left that she held for him.

“I thought I was going to be late, traffic was a mess.”

“I’m just happy you could make it.”

“I can't see myself being anywhere else but here.”

“Iris West?” A woman dressed in purple scrubs calls her name from the door and together they stand to their feet, Barry following Iris’ lead. “I’m Dr. Anna Helmsley, Ms. West’s OBGYN. You must be Barry.”

“Yup, yes, that’s me.” Barry can’t stop, his vocabulary finds a mind of its own, embarrassingly admitting. “I’m the dad… Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Extending a kind smile, Anna shows them to a room designed with a huge generic picture as the focal point, a chair with stirrups in the middle and sonography machine parked next to it. On the walls, over the sink, are standard to-dos hanging in frames. A sanitizer and soap dispenser are placed below; it's sterile and medical, and not as warm as Barry originally pictured.

“And how are you feeling Iris? Still suffering from morning sickness?” The corner of Iris’ lips upturn, confirming her suspicion. “I’m sorry, just one of those things but it’ll pass soon,” Anna emphasized, pulling on gloves before uncapping a bottle of gel. “Last time we talked we discussed your dietary plans. How are you doing with the changes?”

“I miss coffee.”

Laughing, Anna tucks her chin smirking. “I figured you would. How about your prenatal vitamins? Are you being sure to take them with your meals? If not you run the risk of a worse case of nausea.”

“Following the plan to a T, Doc.”

“Good.” Anna smiled turning her attention to Barry. “And what about you Dad? How’re you holding up?”

Put on the spot, Barry does what he does best, stutters, “I-I. Fine. Swell.” Scratching his ear nervously he glimpses Iris out the side of his eye, watching him expectantly. “... just looking to learn and do whatever I can to support her.”

“Alrighty then,” Anna the smiling doctor, as Barry will come to call her, clicks on the machine and warns Iris. “This is going to be cold, ready?”

Moving the probe around Iris’ tummy, all three look on, listening as transmitted sound waves replace the noise of their voices right up until _thump thump_. “Do you hear that?” Anna asks, turning away from the monitor. _Thump thump_.

A nice, steady, strong sound echoes in the room, _thump thump_. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

For the rest of his days, Barry will look back on this time and place. The overwhelming sense of joy and fear roll into one massive cluster of feels, tugging strongly at his heartstrings in places he never knew existed.

Iris sees this, observing the millions of emotions pass over his face until it settles on wonder. “There’s a baby in there?”

The black and white blob on screen; no bigger than his fist is his baby. It's the most beautiful blob he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s so real and living. And his. “My baby.”

Iris finds his hand, lacing their fingers together, slowly teasing the pad of her fingers over his square ones. Amidst, they find each other. Jade green clash with glittering brown and _yes_ , a voice inside her sings with certainty. She’s sure.

“I’ll give you two a minute.” Ripping off her gloves, Anna disposes of them in the trash bin and excuses herself, disappearing in the hallway.

When the door closes shut, Iris grips Barry’s hand a little tighter, “tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I think - I think you’re just the best.” He breathes, eyes prickling with fresh tears ready to be released.

And for the first time, Iris truly believes yeah, this can work.


	11. and never come down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _a new world hangs outside the window, beautiful and strange_."  
>  \- sound & color by Alabama Shakes
> 
> this chapter would not be possible if not for **Kats_m3ow** kind advice and patience. send her love.  
>  _..._

“Fascinating news everyone, your fearless leader walks among the living. Patricia, be a dear and call off the search party, will you? It turns out we can all return to our regularly scheduled lives after all.”

Barry freezes in place just as the elevator doors slide back revealing his boss, Cat Grant, standing front and center in all of her blonde 5’4” glory. She steps forth and holds the door open, keeping it from closing.

“It’s good to see you finally decided to show up.”

“Am I late…?”

“You tell me. I left a little after midnight and returned before seven. The first thing I did was have an interesting conversation with a client so I sent whatsherface to grab you and was told that you’d yet to arrive. So Mr. Allen, tell me, do you think you’re late or has the universe suddenly decided to revolve around you?”

But the clock ahead reads ten minutes till, so does his watch and phone.

“It’s 7:50.” Cat folds her arms, unimpressed. “I clock in at 8.”

Her right hand shoos away specifics dismissively. They are smaller and less important.

“I had an appointment.”

Barry swears they discussed this yesterday but then again she also made it clear the stock wouldn’t suddenly drop closing Grant & Cos. forever, in spite of his absence.

“Old news,” Barry scoffs, securing his bag on his shoulder and sidesteps Cat, and gets off the elevator. “As I’m sure you’re well aware we’re constantly changing, what was in yesterday is today’s -”

“History, yup. I got it.”

He greets his assistant, takes the handful of mail she has to offer and heads his office, Cat no more than a few feet behind him. Unlocking the door, he holds the door open and follows her inside.

“Yesterday took longer than expected,” if spending hours fangirling with Cisco counted as a plausible reason to miss work, then yeah, the doctor’s appointment ran over a bit.

Flipping the lights on first, the room comes into full view. The organized mess on his drawing table sticks out like a sore thumb; piles of crumpled papers, storage tubes, and a plastic cupped packed to the brim with his pencils and pens. On the wall facing the door are shelves stacked with sketchbooks, books on pattern design, building types, modern concepts and a few side shots of his work, the outline and the final product. His desk is an old wooden thing he found on Craigslist sits directly in front of the only window in the room, leaving just enough space for two chairs, one for him and the other for guests.

“But I’m guessing something crucial happened?”

Of course it did. Cat Grant, queen of being unbothered, told him so by showing more than telling. To the untrained eye, Cat Grant was Forbes’ 2008 - 2016 (2017 TBD) leading expert in contractual business design. A genius ahead of her time with a take-no-prisoners mindset.

But to Barry, who’s worked for her for most of his adult life, knew the signs. You don’t work directly under the CEO and not. The straight line of her lips tugged down, the smallest of frowns taking its place and the left side of her jaw sawed back and forth, grinding her teeth.

He drops his focus, flips through the short stack of mail and puts them in two separate piles before dropping his bag at his feet and hanging his jacket over the back of his chair. Taking a deep breath, he looks back at his boss and faces what is already turning out to be a long day.

“It’s Rathaway.”

She must take some form of sick pleasure in seeing him grovel, she has to, otherwise, Hartley would be a colleague's problem by now.

“Don’t say it.”

Pursed lips are her version of smiling. It’s eerie and Barry rather not be on the other end. That smile brought destruction. Whose? It’s was to be determined.

“If you bothered coming back in yesterday afternoon, this could've been avoided, instead you decided to lollygag at your doctor's appointment doing God knows what—don’t tell me. Your personal life doesn’t intrigue or compel me.”

She skims his bookshelf, running a thin finger across one shelf and snivels at the dust staining it.

“I’d check your email if I were you. He’s expecting your call about the change of location.”

Steaming, Barry rubs an agitated hand down the side of his face, groaning. “I hate that guy. I really hate that guy.”

Different location meant new permits, zoning applications, redesigns, buyouts and a series of stress headaches waiting just waiting to attack. To make matters worse, they just got the building registry approved and now he wants to change location, really?

“Suck it up, Allen. This is a place of business, not a Burger King, you can’t have it your way. If you have a problem with it, I suggest you find a way to move on.”

Cut, dry and straight to the point. She drops a new contract on his desk, tells him to get to work and leaves.

Except coming into _do_ actual work this morning is the furthest thing on his mind.

Not with how amazing yesterday went.

Barry is smiling so ridiculously hard, the apples of his cheeks hurt. A tiny price to pay for the overwhelming sense of joy pouring out of him.

The poor unfortunate souls navigating 9th street during their lunch break have to suffer (or strangely privileged - you decided) to witness a grown man skipping down the street like a live action Jim Carrey Yes Man movie poster.

But he doesn’t care. He’s having a baby! An actual baby. And the world needs to know. “Can you believe it!” One unknown stranger pats him awkwardly on the back, returning the unsuspecting, sudden hug Barry grabs him in. “... that’s great bud.”

“Thank you,” cupping the man’s face, he practically sings. “Thank you! I’d give you a picture of the ultrasound but…”

The man shrugs, “Next time.” And Barry hugs him again. “Totally!”

Halfway down the street, Barry feels like he's floating twenty feet in the air, and the man looks after him and the petite woman at his side and wishes them the best of luck. Whoever they are.

Stopping at a green light, traffic zips by bumper to bumper trying to get from one place to the next and Iris takes advantage of the break between. Playing keep up with a person with legs twice as long as hers on an energy high did not bode well for either party involved.

“Have you given any thought on sex?” He was still working on not sticking his foot in his mouth when he talked to her and he’d get there one day, just not today. “Baby-wise. I mean baby-wise. Boy or girl?”

The pedestrian sign flashes overhead, and as they reach the other side of the walk Iris mentions that she hasn’t given it any serious thought. “As long as they’re healthy and grow up happy, I’ll be good to go. What about you?”

“Boy,” he states, spinning so he can face her as he walks, never mind the people he cut off midstep. “Sorry.” Iris finds herself apologizing but makes no move to correct Barry. He was perfect as is. Happy suited him nicely, giving her a glimpse of what he could’ve been like as a child, and she wonders if theirs will be the same. “That way he can protect his other siblings—not that we should, I mean—” He looks away, composes himself and tries again. “If I decided to have more children down the line—with another—they’ll have a strong older brother to look up to.”

“Mhmm.”

He’s said something wrong. He can tell.

“What?”

Iris takes her time, considering the pros of cons of how this conversation can end, and Barry sees the exact second she decides to push forward. She cocks her head to the side and runs her tongue over her bottom lip, “girls are protectors too. I mean, if we have a little girl, she’s going to grow up strong and be able to fight her own battles, ya’know.”

If he’s floating twenty feet high now, Iris sends him soaring. He leans in, ducking closer to speak directly over her ear. “Like her mother?”

Iris winks, “Exactly.”

This new smile he’s wearing is endearing as he pictures a blended version of them on the playground, standing up to bullies and putting those kids in their place. What a leader! What a hero! And yeah, he can see it. A little girl with her eyes and nose, her hair and skin tone. Her everything. She’s so beautiful. He can’t wait to meet her.

“I’m experiencing serious dad pride right now!” Barry shakes his head in wonder, tears dangerously close to falling over. “I’m turning into a sap, stop me!”

Iris doesn’t try nor does she want to. Her smile now equally as big as Barry’s.

They stroll, taking their time to Iris’ business, eventually, Barry turns, slowing down to keep in step with her and they share dumb jokes while they make up stories about the people coming and going around them.

A small joy during a period of his life that lately seemed like his entire world was closing in on itself. “This is nice.” This, here, and now, is good. Right. And before he can think better of it, he’s asking her a question he probably shouldn’t. “Do you think we should, I don’t know, go on a date?” Cupping the back of his neck, Barry brushes the hair there and shrugs. “That’s what people in our situation do, right? Try to coexist, like, a couple?”

“I didn’t know there was anything to be worked out.”

They turn a corner and office building comes into view from a distance. She stretches her legs to pick up the pace.

“So, no then?”

Iris was afraid this would happen. Afraid he would get attached out of obligation instead of sincerity. Stopping, she pivots and holds up her hand to keep him from crashing into her.

“Can we be honest for a second?” Barry nods, and she licks her lips and asks, “are you asking out of necessity?”

Both. If he’s being honest, both. Under normal circumstances, if his heart had been in the right place when they’d met, he’d ask her out in a heartbeat. She’s wonderful and gorgeous, it’d take time to muster the courage some place, but he would. In this weird dramedy, he’s living in his control is unreachable. He wants to be a stand-up guy and decent father, doing this seemed like stepping stone to get there.

He’ll admit, whenever he imagined starting a family, he pictured waking up with a partner, sharing meals with them, and returning home after a long day’s work so he can help his kid with their homework or rush to make their school plays. It was the dream, and yeah he was working in reverse but the goal remained the same.

“Do you want the truth?”

“I’d prefer it, yeah.”

He takes a second, contemplating if he should tell her or not, and decides in the end honesty is best the policy. “I’m on the fence, Iris. On one hand, I don’t want to dive in headfirst but on the other … isn’t it too late?”

“A few weeks ago having a baby was so far out of scope for me and having one with someone I barely know—what I’m trying to say is that until recently my life was pretty much mapped out for me. I grew up, went to college, found a career I didn’t dread,” was supposed to marry the woman I adored and settle down, “and eventually work on starting a family.”

“I’m guessing those plans got derailed somewhere in the process.”

Barry grunted, one of his thick eyebrows lifted as if to agree.

“Now, let me ask you another question?” Iris prompts after a while when the silence has stretched on and Barry looks trapped inside his mind. “Do you genuinely think adding the pressure of dating to our situation is the best move?”

Dating was hard enough. Iris experienced first hand after a series of false starts. The men she crossed paths with either came off as insecure, resenting the time and effort she put into her company or if they somehow managed to have the same work ethic as she did had a severe superiority complex. And in the end, it was better if she just didn’t date.

“I just want to do right by you and baby.”  
She knocks their shoulders together, playfully, and loops her arm with one of his. “Then be present, Barry. I’d say that’s enough for us.”

Barry grins. A ready compliance of whatever you want or something achingly close to it is on the tip of his tongue but he settles with pulling her closer.

“I don’t want us to force ourselves. If it’s meant to happen, well then, let’s not fight it but until then how about we take it slow and work on getting to know each other, is that okay?”

“It’s not the worst idea I’ve heard today.”

His snark earns a poke to the ribs, pleased at how easy-going today has been.

They linger outside her of company for a while, a brick two-story building, with wide glass windows and doors, alluding to its modern interior. But, Barry’s not ready to let her go, and if her jingling keys are anything to go by, neither is she. More and more, she’s coming to enjoy Barry.

“I told my parents.”

Oh. “Um, how’d it go?”

Iris makes a face, shoulders rising stiffly and Barry drops his chin. The details of lunch with her parents still too fresh to bury six feet under in an unmarked grave for her to forget.

“They want to meet you.”

He steps back an inch, breaking their arms apart for the first time since she linked them together. If it upset her, she doesn’t show it, maybe even understands his dilemma. Meeting the family is a huge deal.

“You don’t have to say yes but my family is having dinner Saturday night. I’d like it if you came along,” she declares, a little too rushed for his liking, and deep in his gut, he knows he ruined the moment.

“Yes.”

“Yeah? Are you sure? Because feeling pressured applies equally to this scenario too, and I—”

She’s rambling. For the first time since he’s met her, Iris is losing her cool, distancing herself from the calm composure he’s grown used to. It’s selfish on his part but the unmistakable relief washing over him is undeniable, to see she shares his anxiety.

He can’t in good conscience let her go through it alone. “I’m sure.”

Two knocks tap against the door frame, transporting Barry back to his office and a voice snaps him into the present.

“Hope I’m not interrupting?” Barry blinks catching Oliver leaning against the wall. “Busy?”

A full week has passed since he’s seen or heard anything from him, bearing the question of his presence in the first place. He unfolds a 4x6 from his breast pocket.

Cisco. He must’ve made copies of his and Caitlin’s and dropped one off to Oliver.

Oliver steps fully into the room, glancing down at the photo and back to Barry, stopping when all that separates them is a table. “Looks just like you.”

A smile teases the corner of his mouth, creating the illusion and this is just another day as holds up an exact copy of the picture framed on the desk.

“Has your eyes and everything.”

Oliver sits, crossing his leg over a knee, unfazed by Barry’s empty silence. Twisting the picture between his index and middle finger, Oliver flips it back and forth, taking his time. He realizes, like Barry, that if anything was going to get accomplished it had to start on his end.

“I may have gone on about her —this —” he holds the photocopy up higher, “the wrong way.” His eyes cut to the mesh of black, white and gray as he stares at it for a moment longer before tucking away. “I was an ass.”

Barry blinks, choosing to keep quiet and listen.

“I should’ve been more open to the idea of you starting a family.” He should've handled a lot of things differently. “But in my defense, you were working through one hell of a year and we barely got over that hurdle before another bomb dropped and—and I got worried, Barry. It’s not a great excuse if you can count it as one.”

Oliver wishes Barry would say something. Yell. Throw a vase. Anything but sit motionless. It would make this go so much smoother.

“But I'm here now.”

Fully on board and prepared to do whatever it takes to get back in his best friend’s good graces. Any anger they’ve held in the past never stretched for too long, but Oliver couldn’t shake the impression this wasn’t one of those times.

“I sent flowers to Iris and her friend. Not the apology, I’m sure any of you were hoping for but it’s a start, right?”

For the first time since they’ve met, Oliver can’t make heads or tails of Barry. The same Barry he grew up with, who saw him at his best and actively stuck around for his worst, the same one up until recently could call on no matter what hour of the day. To a certain degree, Barry Allen was the family Oliver never had but wanted. If he went off the deep end protecting that family then it was a just price to pay because make no mistake about it, Barry was his brother and he’d sooner fight fire than willingly stand aside.

Again.

“Talk to me. Even if it’s to tell me to get the hell out and never come back, say something.”

Not never. As in ever. But until his anger cooled off at least. This is Oliver’s fault, after all, he won’t run from it but he will hold out for a miracle.

“I’m sorry, dude. I truly am.”

When Barry fails to respond, Oliver stands, brushes his hands down the formed creases on his shirt and buttons his blazer before pushing in the chair. “I’ll see myself out then.”

Oliver carries himself to the door, silently praying for that miracle to happen before he leaves the room or the kid’s first birthday. It needn’t matter as long as it happened.

“Oliver?”

So there is hope.

“Shut the door on your way out,” echoes hellishly loud, dousing the spark.

“Oh, um,” he tightens the grip he has on the door handle and works on neutralizing his features. “See you around Barry.”

A foot under the threshold, Oliver reaches back to do as asked when Barry faintly calls him back.

“And Oliver?”

He shouldn’t. It could only lead to more disappointment, but he finds himself foolishly peeking in through the doorway.

“You hit like a bitch.”


	12. i’ll paint the moon. you draw the stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _since the day I’ve met you, you’ve been stronger than me._ ”  
> \- do my right by AAR
> 
> thank you **Kats_m3ow** for sticking with me on this, even through an unplanned hiatus, you da' best!  
>  _..._

The text she sends early that morning asks if he's busy. Binge-watching HGTV notwithstanding, he replies he's not.

He's got dinner with her folks later on tonight and he's praying for a small miracle that she's preparing to cancel. The odds of Mr. and Mrs. West murdering him on sight because of what he's done to their daughter, decline.

Iris assures him everything will be fine—her sweet, wholesome—if not, a little old-fashioned, parents are thrilled to meet him.

**I think you're using the term thrilled a little loosely.**

**IW: Maybe, but they are looking forward to meeting you.**

**I'm sure.**

His phone pings with her response.  **IW:**    **wanna go shopping with me?**

Not exactly what he was hoping for.

**IW: for the baby. I can meet you around 1 or 2 and we can head straight to dinner afterwards?**

This is how he finds himself standing outside Babies “R” Us and would you look at that, it's in the same plaza as the gym he signed up for but never goes to. The store must be new or maybe he never gave it much attention, either way, it's all new to him.

He looks in the window, spotting a swarm of newly expectant parents and some not so new ones dragging children by the hand, while others carry them strapped to their chest in weird silk wraparound material.

"Would you like to come in, sir?"

A woman, almost as tall as he is, swings the door open. He must've been gazing longer than he realized as 'Maggie' her name-tag reads, gives him a sympathetic look reserved for first timers.  

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Is there anything I can help you find, I'll be happy to point you in the right direction."  

Right about now, he'd give anything for earplugs or a shot of bourbon amidst the yelling and craziness.  

“No, um, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here,” he jabs a thumb over his shoulder, stalking backward over the squeaky vinyl tile and nearly trips over three feet of wild hair and bones. "Oph, shit—crap! I mean crap—a-are you okay? I didn't see you there."

She screeches, running loops around his legs laughing her head off, in what must be a game of keep away from the tired-looking man trailing behind her.

"Amy, sweetie, come on that's enough. ‘Scuse me bud."

"Um, yeah, no—no problem."

Barry tries wiggling the girl off, but she's either superglued herself to his pants leg or she's got a grip like a bear.

“Let go of the nice man.”

"Nooo," she squeals, climbing up his body in a hurry and before Barry knows it, she's on his back demanding a piggy-back ride. "Go fast! Go fast!"

The dad, bless his heart, tries his best to detach the little one from Barry's shoulders but no-go. Amy grew louder and held on tighter, and Barry wondered for one horrifying split second if this was his future.

He pictured himself in the man's shoes, stained shirt and tried imagining himself chasing after Barry Jr or Barry... _ella_  ? gray at his temples, dark circles under his eyes and a full on dad-bod.

Because that's what dads did, right? Go bald, wear socks with sandals and grow a gut?

"Sweetie," stressed out dad tries distracting her with a doll he grabs off a shelf. "Look who's here," he says and starts singing a song way off key. "The doc is in and—"

"She'll fix you up!" Amy wails right into Barry's ear, and bravely dives over his shoulder and right into her father's arms.

"Good girl." Poor sucker now has to purchase the damn thing.

Barry rubs inside his ear, they'll agree to disagree.

"Sorry about that man, she gets a little excited when she's sleepy."

Sleepy? They get like that when they're  _sleepy_?

"Yeah, sure thing."

“Say bye-bye to the nice man, Ames."

Amy neither cares nor acknowledges Barry's presence since she's been handed a new prize. The family of two disappear into the thickening crowd and Barry restarts his search, glancing at aisle numbers until he reaches the back in what should be a mini store on its own.  

“Hey,” Iris waves him over, “you made it.”

He's at her side instantly, greeting her with a smile that reaches to his eyes, crinkling on the sides.

"This place is a mad house, eh?"

"You could say that." He can still feel Amy's tiny little hands digging into his neck. "Hey, do you think they still have those kid leash things?"

Iris chuckles, examining the inside of a dark wooden crib, testing the softness of the mattress. "We are not getting a leash for our kid, Barry. It's not an animal."

Worth a shot. "So, cribs?"

"Actually, a whole list of things." Iris hands him a notepad scribbled in her neat handwriting.

  1. Crib
  2. Changing table
  3. Dressers
  4. ~~Diaper Pail~~
  5. Baby monitor
  6. Hamper
  7. Bottles
  8. ~~Breast Pump~~
  9. ~~Electric outlet covers~~
  10. ~~Closet organizer~~



Barry let's out a low whistle. "You're on a mission."

"It has to get done sometime. What do you think about this?" She directs his attention to a crib beside the one he originally found her at. White. Wooden. Square. Good enough for him, if it's good enough for her.

Except, "it's a little pricey, isn't it?"

"I dunno, is it?"

Anything over 300 dollars that'll be thrown away in a year, yeah, it's a little expensive. He reads the list of things included with the crib and makes a face when no extras are included—hell, even the mattress came separately. And it was huge, way more space than a baby would need. He bet if he folded himself at just the right angle he could probably fit.

"If it's too much, I can handle it."

"That's not it." He can afford it, "I can help with half or pay for the whole thing, it's just, do you really want to pay this much money for something you probably won't use after a year?"

"Let's think about it while we look at others."

"Sounds like a plan."

They end up in the back corner of the store, having looked at every crib available, both vetoing at least two of each other's choices. She wouldn't do steel or anything with wheels and he wasn't necessarily in favor of those frilly bassinet things nor did he care too much for the Victorian models.

"I like this one."

Barry checked the price first, finding it no more than a little over a hundred dollars. The mattress wasn't included but after googling the price five cribs ago, they weren't that expensive. The color was a nice shade of walnut (which they both agreed would like nice against a neutral color). It was round, sat high and even had two drawers crafted into the bottom for extra diaper space.

"I think we found our crib." She offered her palm, and he high-fived it. "We make one heck of a team, Iris."

"Even if it did take us three hours to agree."

"Three hours," he checked his watch, and yep, the bug hand was definitely going on five. The same time her parents anticipated his company.

"I guess that means we should get going, huh?"

Iris rubbed his shoulder, her way of saying it wouldn't be terrible, at least not as much as he was making it seem. She grabbed a ticket for purchase, a little caught off guard when he secured one for himself too.  

"We'll need two, right? One for your place. One for mine." He answered her curious frown.

"Wow ... I didn't even think about that."

She ran a hand through her hair, blinking rapidly as if the idea crossed her mind for the first time ever.

Check out was a little tense, as the cashier rang up Barry, advising their seperate delivery times. He wasn't sure what he'd done or said but treaded lightly. Pregnant women were known to fly off the handle, weren't they? At least that's how the media made it and the last thing Barry wanted to do was get on Iris' bad side.

He walks her to her car, a few rows past his and waits until she’s in safely before telling her he'd see her soon. The drive is less than twenty minutes away, leaving him with an even shorter amount of time to get his shit together. He tries using the radio as a distraction, hoping it'd block the vision of being tossed out on his ass repeatedly in multiple ways but to no avail until eventually, he pulls in behind Iris' car.

The front door slides open and he realizes he should’ve brought a gift—a bottle of wine or maybe a cake.

"Fuuuck," he cursed under his breath, right before plastering on his biggest, brightest smile as Iris answers the door.

“Mom, dad,” Iris takes his hand, encouraging him to walk fully into the foyer where her parents stand side by side, “this is Barry. Barry, these are my parents.”

It’s painfully quiet for all of two minutes as an older man and woman examine Barry from head to toe. The man's jaw is taut, sharp and could probably take a punch without flinching and the woman, while softer in appearance, looks even more cutting. If not for Iris loudly clearing her throat, they would've stayed like that forever.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Barry, I’m Francine and this is my husband Joseph.”

Francine crosses the small space between the four to welcome him warmly, Joe keeps his distance; eyes fixed on Barry’s six plus frame.

“Dad?”

He makes a noncommittal noise and turns on his heel. “I don’t like him.”

“Dad _."_

Awesome. This was getting off to a fantastic start.

“Joe, be nice,” Francine coddles him, wrapping her arm around his waist, soothing his iron hardness right before everyone's eyes. He grumbled, puffing hard but turns around.

“It’s nice to meet you, Barry.”

“Yes, Barry, we’re happy to have you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh, please, call me Francine and you can call my husband—”

“Detective West,” Joe asserts. “You can call me Detective West.”

“Yes, sir.”

Francine wheels Joe in the direction toward the kitchen, kindly shooing him away with instructions. “Go set the table, baby. I’ll be in to join you in a minute.”

Joe grunts, looks at the strange boy in his home and remembers to breathe through the storm he’s felt since his only daughter dropped the news that he was going to be a grandfather.

“And you,” Francine, who shares Iris' smile and eyes walks closer to Barry and wraps him in a ferociously tight hug, “I hope you're hungry. I don't want to pat myself on the back just yet, but I think you'll like what I cooked up for us this evening."

He's at a loss for words in this setting, surrounded by unfamiliar people but he doesn't want to come off as distant so he nods eagerly and smiles back. Francine winks at Iris, pats Barry on the shoulder and excuses herself to go find Joe in the kitchen. Barry doesn't breathe until she disappears around the corner.

“They like you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Iris rolls her eyes, caught in a fib. "Okay, so they're dangerously close to potentially liking you ... one day."

Barry snorts, running his clammy hands through his hair and follows Iris down a step into the living room.

"Well, I'm feeling over the moon already."

Iris' snicker travels through the room as she falls to the couch in a huff, stretching back and resting her hands on her stomach. They're approaching the three-month mark, the end of her first trimester in the pregnancy, and she was just starting to show. It was a small bump, easily hidden by her new flowy wardrobe but Barry couldn't take his eyes off her, absorbed by her progress and the way nature did its' thang.

“How does it—it feel?”

Nervously gesturing to her midriff, he watches Iris glance down, her hands resting on the swell and back to Barry. She reaches out to him.

"Come here."

When he sits beside her, she traces her hand from his elbow down to his hand and placed it over her stomach.

"Some days are weird. Some days I don't even feel pregnant until I'm trying to get dressed and realize I can't fit a shirt anymore or I have to pee every half-hour. Did you know that happens early on, I thought I'd be at least six months into this thing before my bladder became my kids play thing.”

“No,” Barry laughed, moving his hand around her stomach absentmindedly, "I had no clue."

"Well, it is and it's exhausting."

Her hand has joined his now, and they both take their time navigating around the small bundle they created together, content to just be next to each other, as Barry idly glances around the room.

"Who's that?"

Iris looks to her left to find a recent picture of her and her brother sitting on the end table. “That’s my little brother Wally. He couldn’t be here tonight 'cause he’s away at school.”

Her family's living room is adorned in photos, a few odd ones like the old Billie Holiday framed next to her dad's record player, some show her parents on their wedding day, a couple feature Grandma Esther in her heyday while other shows her with her children and grandkids but mostly the living room is decorated with photos of Iris and Wally through the years. There's one picture of Iris as a little girl dressed in her school uniform wearing the happiest smile Barry ever saw. Another picture shows a taller version of Wally and he’s not so little anymore, standing several inches taller with broad shoulders in a soccer uniform.

“He’s studying to be an engineer,” Iris went on, “he’s almost done, give him another semester or two. Do you have any siblings?”

Barry shakes his head. At one point in his life, he'd begged for a little brother but he never came. It wasn't until he was well into high school that he learned what a touchy subject it was for his parents. How his mother held it together with a smile as her eyes glossed over telling him, "maybe one day," he’d never know. Later on he learned he was somewhat of a miracle for the Allens. It was hard for Nora to carry full term, and they'd almost given up hope when he'd shown up and stuck around.

“No, um–it’s just me.”

“Don’t worry, you aren’t missing out. Little brothers can be a pain in the butt.”

Barry chuckled. “I’m sure as his older sister he thinks the world of you too.”

Whatever her response was fell short as Francine peeked around the corner, “dinner is ready, go wash up.”

Iris waits for him outside the bathroom door, thankfully, lord knows he doesn't have the courage to do so alone — no matter the small pep talk he'd given himself in the mirror. The dining room is just off the living room and a massive table occupies most of the space, save for the wine cabinet and two decorative vases lining the rear wall. At the head of the table is Joe, to his left is Francine, on his right is Iris, leaving Barry to sit in the only available seat at the end of the table, directly in Joe’s line of sight where he can be watched at all times.

"What do you do for a living Barry?"

“Daddy, seriously?”

“What? You want me to meet the boy, ” Joe feigned, dropping his fork onto his plate and looks back and forth between his daughter and wife, “ and I can’t even ask the boy questions?”

“Let him at least take a bite of food first, Joe." Francine rested her hand on top of his.

“No, it’s–it’s fine. Um, a lead consultant for Grant & Co.”

Iris’ brow popped up. She didn’t know that.

Francine didn't miss the small change in her daughter, neither did Joe.

"The architect firm?"

"Yes, sir, top in the country." Barry embellished. If anything, working for a well respected had to earn him some favor in the long run. 

"And how long have you been employed there?" Joe went on, making sure not only to listen but watches his body language for contradictory clues.

“Since college, sir. I interned half of my junior year going into my senior year and stuck around the summer after I graduated when they brought me on full time as a yellow hat, mostly helping develop green lit projects until I got approved for one of my own.”

“That’s great. Isn’t that great Joe?”

“So what you’re saying is that you can afford to take care of your responsibilities.”

“Joe.”  

“Dad! Seriously.”

Francine and Iris scold at the same time.

“It’s an honest question! A good man takes care of his own.”

Barry's eyes bug slightly, caught off guard, but answers the question truthfully. "Yes sir, I'm financially stable.”

Joe inhaled, sitting back in his chair and crossed his arms, “and your folks, what do they think about all of this? You know, having a baby with someone who doesn't look—"

"For the love of God dad, please stop.”

Barry's adam’s apple bobbed.

“Please don’t answer that."

“Actually,” Francine sat upright, putting her entire focus on Barry mimicking Joe's features. “I’d really like to know.”

“Mom!”

“Iris, come on, it’s a valid question. We can’t pretend the world is a perfect place.  It’s best to be prepared.”

“And you think assuming his parents are bigots during dinner—without even meeting them, I might add—is the best time?”

Proper dinner etiquette said it wasn’t but Barry could tell they really wanted to know, and Iris might deny it all the way to her grave but a small piece of her had to wonder as well.

Outside of a failed attemot at meeting his friends, he didnt talk about his personal life. If it wasn't about the baby or her, he mostly kept to himself.

She didn't suspect he was ashamed, but what if? The thought never crossed her mind until now.

“I hadn’t. I didn’t think it was important at the time.”

The world was less than perfect. It was full of good and not so good people but his parents were definitely the former. They raised him to respect and accept differences in people no matter their background, lifestyle, or culture.

“I see. And do you plan on ever telling them?”

All three sets of eyes turn to him this time and he strangely feels like he's being lead to the chopping block.

“They know that I'm—we’re expecting. They just haven’t met Iris, yet.” He turned to the woman in question and lifted a shoulder uncertainly. "We can though, I can set it up anytime. We usually have family dinners on Sundays, you're more than welcome to join us."

It's not that he didnt intended to introduce Iris, but everything was happening so fast then he went and stuck by asking her out.

She said taking it slow was their best option. He thought he was doing that, but adding a baby, intertwining families comolicated things and now he didnt know up from down.

"Sure, I'd like that."

Okay then, next Sunday it was.  The news seemed to tie over Francine and Iris at least.

Joe was only getting started, working his way through a list of questions. Everything but Barry's social security number was under Joe's belt, and he had a feeling he'd want that too before he left.

"Where did you go to school?"

"Metropolis University."

"GPA?"

"3.5, sir."

"Ever been arrested?"

"No sir."

"How many traffic tickets have you had in the past two years?"

"One, sir."

"You do know it's dangerous to speed, do you plan on speeding with my grandchild in the car?"

"No, sir."

So on and so forth until Joe pinches a nerve.

"Is there someone my daughter needs to worry about from a past relationship?"

Two weeks and counting, that's how long it'd been since he'd had time to think about Rebecca. The last time was a call from her mother. Apparently, she'd had some movers pack up her stuff and ship it to Starling City. She'd accepted a job there and was looking to start fresh, her mother regrettably expressed that maybe it was time to move on. So, here he was, or at least trying to—Iris and their baby gobbled up any thinking space he had outside of work so it was fairly easy, but he couldn't deny the sting he felt when heard her name or imagined her face.

"No, there's no one."

Iris looked at him for a long time, it must've been in his voice, the small lie of his past but as far as he knew Rebecca no longer wanted him, so he was telling the truth.  

When it was time to leave, Francine hugs him again, wishing him a good night, and hands him tupperware filled with leftovers. She takes a step back and pushes Joe forward. “Be nice," she warns, and for the most part, he is, not as kind as his wife but not as hardened as when Barry first arrived.

Iris walks him outside, nervously chewing on her lip when they got to his car. “I swear my father is not so  _on_ all the time. He's just doing what he thinks is right, going full on dad-cop," she rambles, “it's this whole thing. I'm sorry."

Grinning, he scratched the back of his neck, holding his hand in place as he lifted his head to the sky. "He's a convincing detective, that's for sure."

"Well, don't be afraid. He can smell fear from a mile away and he uses it to his advantage," she jokes, poking his shoulder, "in all seriousness, he’s a nice guy. He’s just having trouble accepting our situation. I know it wasn't easy and I know it was probably the last place on earth you wanted to be tonight, but I appreciate you coming. "

"I'd do anything for you, Iris."

It could be the dopamine circulating his brain, stirring this rollercoaster he's on whenever Iris is near, but is surprised with how true he felt saying it.

Believe him, befriending Joseph and Francine West never crossed his evening itinerary, and he totally gets their frustration as a soon to be father he'd blow a fuse if his possible daughter to-be came home with news like Iris had done. Their third degree is totally warranted, as is their spying from the window but in the end, he'd like for them to get along, be civil. When Iris realized she was pregnant they sorta became … family.

A partial smile breaks Iris' demeanor and against her better judgment, she kisses his cheek, letting her lips graze his skin a second longer than necessary.

"Get home safely, Barry."


	13. i'm a pisces if it matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _i'm still in my bathrobe hiding in the shadows_."  
>  \- feels like summer by Weezer
> 
>  big shout out to Kats_m3ow for sticking with me as beta.  
>  _..._

He knocks softly first, a little harder shortly after and takes a small step back on the walkway. A beat later the door cracks open and a mop of blond hair, chiseled jaw and muscle poured into a form fitting t-shirt answers the door.

"You must be Barry."

Drawing back, Barry checks the lawn sign’s address and _yeah_ , it's the right one. He blinks from man to sign and back again until powder blue eyes dance, amused. 

"Is Iris ... here?"

"Yeah, man, c'mon in." Waving him inside, the man introduces himself, "I'm Eddie by the way. Let me show you where she is."

Down the hall, and to the right, Barry still hasn't conducted a single sentence - probably for the best as the first comment out of his mouth would've been _which runway did you walk off_?

“Iris, your friend is here.”

Barry tenses, skidding to a slow halt in the doorway, hands clenching the two cans of paint he lugged inside. They were a bit more than friends—nonexclusively not dating—but definitely more than _just_ friends.

“Barry, hey,” Iris says, popping up to her feet as fast she can, she waddles over, clasping her hands appreciatively. "Great. You got the paint. Thanks so much."

"No prob—"

“Here, let me get that for you.” Eddie goes to reach and Barry’s brain shoots off warning signs, throwing him back.

Iris blinks, looking between the two men.

Eddie bites his lip, hard.

And Barry’s dying to rewind the last five seconds of this impromptu Mexican standoff.

He’s grasping at straws, asking why? Why? _Why_ ? and the only logical explanation being Iris. She asked him—not Eddie— to bring paint. And okay,  _maybe_ she mentioned it as a complete afterthought - throw away type of way in a text reminding him of their rescheduled doctor's appointment. Somewhere in there, he asked how her day was going and she may have casually revealed forgetting to stop by Home Depot. And she may not have appointed him _specifically_ to go in her place but, well, he offered and she accepted.

Him. Barry Allen. Not Eddie. So there…

“No, I got it, um, w - where do you want it?” He asks Iris but keeps eyes on Sir Handsome with his obnoxious perfectly coiffed hair.

“Where you're standing is fine.”

The skin of Eddie's bottom lip is dangerously close to ripping. And call him an enabler but a tinge of joy circulates his body watching Barry watch him inch closer to Iris, and an even greater pleasure when a vein in Barry’s forehead appears when he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

"Cool. I'll get started on it in a bit."

Barry's nostrils flare. He's in no condition whatsoever to decorate much less paint, yet he finds himself opening his big mouth anyway. "I can paint. I mean, it's not hard and I've done it before … plenty of times and, um," actively avoiding Iris, he emits, "build things. I'm good with my hands."

Eddie snorts. The little control he had, gone. Iris pokes him in the side but her laughter threatens to spill over at any second, subsiding slight in the face of Barry’s big green puppy dog eyes.

"It’s fine, Barry. We're nearly done. Eddie's only here to help move things into the attic."

Eddie nods. Iris smiles, and Barry looks on. 

"I'd really like to help."

"Barr—"

"No, Iris," Eddie lifts his hands, bowing out, "s'okay. He wants to help. Let 'em help. I should probably get going anyway, I'm closing tonight." Turning to Barry, he smiles so genuinely Barry feels a tad-bit guilty for being standoffish in the first place. "Alright man, I'll get out of your hair and let you get to work."

Grabbing his sweater off the door hook, he inclines, "Walk me out, sweetheart?"

And the feeling's gone. 

"Right behind you."

"Was nice to finally meet you, man." Eddie parts, waving.

Left standing alone, Barry feels like he can finally breathe.  _What am I doing_? Stupid. Of course, she has someone on standby to do all her heavy lifting. 

What was he thinking?  

“I guess I'll see you tomorrow night?”

"I'll call when I'm on my way."

Their conversation carries down the hallway, seeping into the room's walls. Barry's not trying to eavesdrop, he swears.

"Love you, Iris."

But he can't help overhearing what's obviously meant to be shared.

The door closes, jump starting the rest of his body, to look busy and pretend he never felt an iota excitement racing over. She didn't know this, but he stayed up all night searching for the perfect baby names, and there was one he wanted to share in the hopes they had a girl.

Now. He drops the can of paint at his feet, hangs his jacket on the back of the door and starts piecing together what's left of the room. _RIIIIP_ echoes off the walls. He cuts the tape, slapping it on a box and pushes it aside when Iris reenters. 

“Should I bring up the elephant in the room or do you wanna give it a try?"

Peeking over his shoulder, Barry shrugs, turning around. “What's there to talk about?”

“Oh, I dunno," she says, "we could start on how weird you're acting.”

“I am not acting weird.”

He pushes another box, feeling her blatant disappoint focus on the center of his back. 

“I was hoping as co-parents we could at least be honest with each other," Iris starts. Even though, she’d bet all the money in her wallet right now, that she already knew what this was about. His body language gave him away. 

A few minutes passed, allowing him to get his thoughts together until she couldn't take the silence anymore. 

"Barry?"

“I don’t know.” 

What did she want him to say? It was nice to be needed? 

"I said to call anytime. I said I was all in—"

“But Eddie threatens you?”

“—No." Not necessarily.

Was it crazy? To see how well she fared without him. He thought they were progressing. She linked him to her calendar for doctors appointments and he showed up to every single one, asking questions, taking notes. He's even read through all those 'what to do when expecting' pamphlets.

Constantly restating his availability if she ever needed anything, to call.

But she never did.

When she asked him to meet her at the store, he thought,  _okay, this is great._ The night she met his folks, he watched Nora welcome her warmly, how his father fussed over her waiting on her hand and foot, again thought,  _yes_ , no matter Henry and Nora’s initial reaction, they loved Iris the moment he introduced her and were thrilled for the two newest additions to their family.

Maybe it was a fluke. The paint certainly was. If she had late night cravings—which he was fairly certain she did—he wasn't aware. Morning sickness? He wasn't around to hold her hair back. If she signed up for Lamaze class—she never invited him. 

Eddie was busy filling the role.  _His_ role. 

Iris crosses the room, wedging herself in front of Barry, and reaches up, angling his chin down forcing eye contact and a chance to tell her the truth.

“I—if you need anything, you can call me." But he can’t look at her, not voicing his worries so he shuts his eyes. "I want to be the person who helps you decorate the nursery, if you wanted someone to shovel things to the attic, I can do it. If you're having food cravings at 3 a.m. I want to be the one that gets out of bed to find it for you. That's my job. Not—"

“Eddie's?"

“Anyone."

Iris loses her inner battle from earlier, the grin slips far too fast to be contained, and a chuckle follows after it when Barry’s chin tilts up, neck scarlet. 

“You're cute when you're jealous.”

“—I’m not jealous.”

Sliding her arms over his shoulders, she locks her hands around his neck, pulling him closer. "It's okay if you are."

Glancing down, he pouts, "I'm not."

"Okay," she says.

He knows she doesn't believe him but is grateful she doesn't press. Instead, they get to work. She loads, he folds, tapes and moves them to the attic under her instruction until the room is clear save for one tall box leaning against a wall.

"They delivered your crib?"

He was still waiting on his. It didn't help he lived further across town but he expected it any day now. 

"This morning. I guess there are some benefits working from home."

"I didn't know you were."

"Yeah, it's a new thing I'm trying out." More like something Linda demanded. "Three days a week, you know, so I can take things easy."

"Sounds like you hate it," he says from over his shoulder, contemplating how long it'd take to put together a crib, laughing as she whined.

"I hate it so much."

Her big responsibilities included but were not limited to invoices, calling in for conference meetings and contacting suppliers. If she ran into a problem, 'No problem, girl, I got it handled. All you need to focus on is making sure my little niece or nephew is happy and healthy' Linda would say before she even had a chance to send out an email.

“I can do this now if it’s alright with you?” Barry taps the box, snapping Iris’ attention back to the present. 

“Knock yourself out. I’m going to grab something to eat, you want anything?”

“Sure,” Barry grunts, tearing the box's seal.

In the kitchen, Iris realizes she doesn't have food she can quickly throw together. There's fruit, some bread and a pan of brownies she tried making her way through last night. At one point there was leftover roast beef but after a whiff, she found herself hugging her toilet and disposing of it after.

She inspected the freezer. It'd take awhile to thawing something out. 

And she won't assume his nights magically free or he doesn't have an early morning just because - he’s not the one who has to carry around the extra weight of a human person.

"Crap," she mutters, looking down at her swollen ankles.

She finds him in the middle of the floor, a pile of wood circling him.

“Need help?”

Holding up the instruction manual, Barry declares, "it’s impossible to read."

“Aww, big strong architect can’t handle a _wittle_ crib.”

Barry eyes squint, crinkling the sides. He gets to his feet. “I’ll have you know this thing is rigged, there is no way it needs this many screws.”

She's not prepared for how close he gets, made evident by laughter now clogging her throat, driving itself back down. He stands over her, forcing her to look up, and wonder if her possible future son or daughter will grow to be just as tall.

Or inherit his freckles that seem to be everywhere.

"Oh," he stoops low, "what's up?"

Or his impossibly long lashes and green eyes, captivating no matter their shade.

Green like leaves bloomed in the spring with tiny specks of gold circling his pupils, bright enough, she was sure she could see her reflection. 

"Iris?"

A trail of sweat sliding into his open shirt collar tears her eyes away, even though, she itches to follow it down. 

"Iris?" Barry snaps his fingers, brow coaxing. 

"Um," she looks up as if hearing him for the first time.

"Iris?"

"Hmmm?" 

"You alright, can I get you anything? Do you need to sit down?" 

He bets he can carry her no problem. "Here, let me—" and has her off her feet in the same second. A surprised yelp slips from Iris and he assures, "I've got you."

Sitting her on the couch in the living room, he takes a spot on the floor and lifts her feet onto his lap. 

He read pregnant women, especially new ones, were prone to all sorts of aches and pains, usually in the first trimester. Telling by her bare ankles, he'd bet Iris wasn't an exception.  He starts slow, applying just the right amount of pressure, rubbing his thumb over her heel before spreading his fingers further. 

Iris wants to tell him no. Stop. Explain how this was not what she returned for but as his hands climb her calf, massaging the tension free, she melts like ice under a sweltering sun and sinks into the couch, moaning.  

Peeking from under his lashes, an inkling of self-satisfaction buzzes from his chest, spreading to every cell in his body.

If she allowed it, they could do this all the time.   

"Better?"

Black curls drape lazily over the back of the couch as she nods, sighing, "Is this what you meant by anything?"

Hot with embarrassment, Barry drops his forehead to her thigh, realizing a second too late what he's done and tries backing away when he feels her hands in his hair, lightly scraping her nails over his scalp and he has to fight the groan rumbling in his chest down,  _way_ down deep, and looks up. Her eyes are darker, and he thinks the setting sun outside of her windows is to blame, but they stare under hooded lids and it's different than how she usually looks at him. Her hand falls, brushes along his eyelashes first, drops down to his cheek and finally his jaw, skimming back and forth. 

He lets her explore, afraid to move, let alone breathe and ruin the moment forever. 

The next night at their mid-week Pilates class, Eddie grills her.

"He's into you."

"He is not." she'll say but one thought creeps into the back of her mind by the end of the night, that sometime in the distant future - after the baby is born - maybe kissing Barry Allen wouldn't be such a terrible idea.


	14. and if you're free, i volunteer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _you're my biggest wonder_ "  
> \- hurts good by R5  
> thank you **Kats_m3ow** for staying kind and keeping me motivated.  
> ...

How you feeling, sweetie?”

Bloated.

And nothing fits anymore. _And s_ he despises maternity clothes like they're the plague, taking the asterisks under kitten heels of worst fashion items to exist. They're rock in her shoe and the run in her stockings. They're nothing but unflattering pieces of cloth designed to drown her out and seriously, how does one wear a muumuu and consider themselves fashionable?

adding on to that, her stomach pumps and brushes against any and everything when she's not sitting still. She's a walking caution sign. Her staff won't come near her, not after the stunning warehouse display she put on. Her stomach nicks a mannequin she's standing near and like a row of dominos, the place becomes a walking sea of fabrics and collapsedshelves. 

So what does Linda do? She takes it upon herslef to designated her office as the only safe place for Iris to go the three out of six days she actually comes in. 

" _i'm trapped in by four walls_."

" _yeeeah but it's four walls with a view_."

Mix that in with the lack of sex she's been having ... and well, this month hasn't necessarily been her best.

“I'm fiiiiine.”

She's lying and Francine can tell.

“Certain?”

During an impromptu lunch visit, Eddie might've slip ped up and mentioned an incident involving a distressed waiter and crying Iris all because of an order mixup.

"I can stop by later this evening? Bring dinner, we’ll make it a girls night.”

Its sweet of her to offer and on any other day, Iris would jump at the chance to spend quality time with her mom, but the new bath salts and a tub filled with them and hot water were calling her name. Not to mention she was going to attempt a full eight hours of rest. Who knows tonight could be her lucky night for the first time in forever.

“I’m good.”

“I don’t mind.”

Iris smiles into to the receiver. “I know, but today has been a day." Of boring invoices and approving pay, all on a need to know basis. "Maybe over the weekend?”

“At least let me bring you a plate. Since you and your brother moved out, I always seem to make too much.”

“Really mom, it's okay.”

After Barry finishes the nursery Sunday, he finds her sitting in the living room, paint-stained sideburns and smeared along his jaw, he asks if there's anything else she needs done. The only thing she can think of is her growing grocery list, and he eagerly jumps at the chance. He doesn’t even bat an eye as she loads the cart with brownie mix, jars of peanut butter and a mountain of watermelon. So long as there are a few other healthy choices thrown in as well.

"Alright." Her mother says, not letting it go, Iris'll guarantee, and fully expects a "surprise" roast or Grandma Esther's noodles to suddenly appear in her refridgerator, but thankfully changes subjects. "Have you spoken to Wally lately? I swear that boy is harder to get ahold of more and more."

"Not recently."

Francine huffs over the line. "He was supposed to call to rsvp for the holiday."

Iris clicks her inkpen, mindlessy tapping the end to her desk watching the ballpen disappear and reappear and asks, "and why do we need to rsvp again?"

"Because it's our turn to host this year." The only thing missing is the  _duh_ tying off at the end. As if Iris should know. 

But Iris has a sneaky suspicion this is about Ms. Cecile (Francine's mortal enemy? frenemy?) who lives down the street and for a short while dated her father in highschool before he met her mother, who also hosted last years Labor Day function. 

"Mom? It's just a BBQ, throw a few burgers on the grill, keep the potato salad chilled and everything will be fine."

"That's not the point, Iris. I'm creating the seating chart and I need to know who's attending and who's not - speaking of, has Linda said anything?"

"Doesn't she always stop by?" 

"She hasn't rsvp'd so I don't know." 

My god. Why was this a thing - and more importantly - would this be her thing in a few years? Hounding her kid about what should be a free Monday off away from work. Knowing good and well Labor Day on her block was not the social event of the year she was making it out to be but was more than likely her father standing in the driveway at the grill, wearing those same tacky brown slip-on sandals and his kiss the chef apron type event. 

“Ma, we both know she’s coming, Wally, he might be off doing his own thing - who knows what he's up to, just mark her down.”

"I can't put her down. What if she doesn't show, now I have an empty place setting!" 

"One. It's a block party, you don't need place settings. Two. People are going to be coming in and out. So what's the point?"

In fact, the West were those people. On any holiday that could be celebrated throughout the neighborhood (Thanksgiving and Christmas excluded) her family checked in, sometimes stayed to catch up and enjoy the food. Depending on milled about upon their arrival, her dad would stick around and talk sports or cars or work, and her mom would slip on her co-host hat while she and Wally busied themselves out on the closed off street with the other kids.

Over the years not much has changed. Her father still talked shop and Francine played the perfect second with anything the host needed. The only outright difference now was instead of escaping for a game of tag, Wally snuck off with girls while Iris kinda hung back and just chilled with whoever was around. The only time there were together was for the firework display. Wally would come out of hiding, wesring some girls lipstick smudged on that dopey grin of his and Iris would snuggle under the blanket her parents were always sure to bring as they'd watch the show until the very end, wish everyone a goodnight and head home. 

It was simple. It was tradition and Iris quite liked it that way.

“You don’t have to compete with Ms. Horton you know? The way we’ve been doing it the last twenty-eight years of my life has been perfectly fine.”

“Just tell Linda to call.” Iris glares at her phone, blinking incredulously at her mother's contact picture, even more so as she casually drops Barry's name. "I hear he's been hanging around. How is he?”

“Who told you that?”

“I have my sources.”

“Mom!”

"Whaaat? Eddie might've casually mentioned it over lunch."

Iris clicked the pen faster. "Please stop having lunch with my friends!"

Francine sighed. "You mind as well get used to it. He's a great conversationalist and his place is right next to my favorite deli. It's impossible for us not to run into each other." 

"Moooom-"

"Besides, this is a good thing. Barry should be around more - now more than ever because it's only going to get harder. You think you're losing sleep, wait until the baby comes. It's nothing but dirty diapers, spit up and your nipples leak-"

“They leak?!”

“Oh, honey,” Francine cooed, trying but failing to hold her laughter. “You're in for such a surprise. That’s not even the worst of it.”

Thankfully before she can start to list her various reasons, Kendra beeps in.

“Iris, Ms. Reynolds is on line one.”

Her mother is still cackling loudly in one ear when she picks up her landline. "One sec." To her mom, she tries cutting her off. “Mom …  _mom_! I gotta go. I have a call waiting.”

Somewhere in between her hooting, she reminds Iris to have Wally and Linda contact her, and just to get her off the phone, Iris agress.  

“And invite Barry. It’ll be nice to see him again.”

“Mom no -”

“Come on, he's a nice boy. It'll be good to have him around."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"I'm glad we’re on the same page about this. I'll see you both soon. Love you, sweetie."

Fuuuuck. “Love you too. Bye.”

She hangs up to her mother making kissy noises and switches her cell for the cordless, waiting for Kendra to patch her through. "This is Iris." 

“Hey girl,” Cynthia Reynolds, real estate extraordinaire and friend, greets her happily once she comes on. “Please tell me Linda is with you?”

As if waiting for her name to be mentioned, Linda burst into the room carrying a garment bag in one hand and a pair of heels in the other. Iris point to the phone, and motions her over.

“She just walked in actually.”

Linda inquires with a lift of her chin, and Iris mouths ‘Cynthia’, pressing speaker.

“Cindy. How’re you?”

"I'll be a heck of lot better once I tell you two the great news.”

The bag drops to the table, shoes fall to the floor and Iris sits straight in her chair and they both stare unmoving at the phone. 

“Cynthia," Linda enunciates each syllable. "Is this the call, like, the one we've been waiting for?" Forget cordial small talk, Linda plants one thigh on the desk and brings the phone closer and shoots straight to the point. Good thing because Iris isn't a hundred percent sure she could speak if this was, in fact, _the_ call.

Either this is a cruel moment of torture or Cynthia uses the same second to build suspicion, but when she tells them, "you got it!" Iris feels everything stop, she can vaguely hear Linda's muffled scream is in the background because there's a loud buzzing, rivaled only by the white noise she heard in her bathroom some 5 months ago. 

“I’m getting ready to email you both the paperwork, print it out. Have your lawyers look it over and sign on the dotted line and the place is yours.”

“Yeeeeees!” Linda fist pumps, shortly after composing herself. "Please tell me you're serious?"

“When am I ever not serious?” Cynthia declares. “Congratulations ladies, you are now the proud property owners of 18 Rue Vieille, Paris France. How's it feel?”

Unreal. So very alternate dimension. A year ago, expanding was nothing but a dream. And expanding across the ocean - crazy. It wss a far-fetched dream they joked about in passing, never expecting it to happen so soon. Was it attainable? Definitely. Sure.They just never expected it to happen in their very near future.

ParkWest was always going to be a success, Iris and Linda would assure that it would but they never, ever, thought they would grow this way - so soon - in a such a short amount of time. But here they were, owners of their very own shop in Paris _fricking_ France and their name was going to be on the sign, and it would house their designs and employ their employees.

_Shit._

“I feel like a fuckin’ million bucks!” Linda yelled, remembering a second too late where she was. “Excuse my French.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad I could deliver the good news. How about Iris, she in shock?”

Linda glances down at her friend who hasn't moved a muscle. Not even to blink. Linda waves a hand in front of her face. Nothing.  

"I'd say so."

Cynthia chuckles, relaying, "well when she snaps out of it, make sure you sit down to look over the details. If you have any questions or concerns before we finalize, let me know, and I’ll get everyone in contact."

"Absolutely."

"And you should be receiving a congratulatory bottle of champagne. Have one for me and congrats again ladies."

“Yes, yes. Of course! Thank you so much, Cindy.”

“Happy to do it. I’ll talk to you two later.”

Linda hangs up the phone and a new stunned silence stretches in the room. The reality of what just happened starting to settle in. Linda runs her fingers through her perfectly styled hair, stops, runs them down to her hips and marches over to the window, lifts the blinds and opens it before leaning out and screaming for the city to hear.

“We’re fucking international, bitches!”

For Iris, the buzz has morphed into tangible vibrations, raising off the walls anx dropping like sand inside an etch-a-sketch.But even that isn't enough to mute the question circling her mind: what did this mean for her and the baby? What did this mean for Barry? 

New site means new development. It means physically overseeing it for at least a year to make sure it maintained steady legs. All things Linda could manage successfully on her own but this is  _their_ dream. This is what  _they_ have wanted ever since they were little girls doddling designs inside their notebooks after school. 

But. She glances down, spotting her hand hovering protectively over her baby bump, this was hers too. Did this mean she just picked up her life and move it thousands of miles away?

Or did she leave it with Barry?

Her entire body goes heavy like an anvil has been dropped and suddenly instead of a pressing pause, it's like someone has hit fast-forward on her life and she's being forced to watch her child grow up without her. And no. No. As selfish as it may sound, this is  _her_  baby. She couldn’t just leave it behind. Not for a year, let alone a day.

“Why are you pouting?”

Linda wheels her seat around and grabs her up. “We did it! We should be celebrating!” She says, twirling her around.

“Linda. Linda, stop!”

“Oo. Sorry. Do you need the wastebasket?”

“No.” Iris steadies herself, bracing one hand on the edge of the desk and falls back into the comfortable padded seating. “That’s not it.”

“Then what–” a knock interrupts her, and Linda glances at the door, questioning who was crazy enough to interupt them of all times when she opens the door, revealing Barry. 

She looks him up and down, brown eyes holding her clear displeasure. He goes for a smile, adam's apple bobbing, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. So far Barry went out of his way to avoid Linda at all cost. She still hasn't truly forgiven Oliver and that somehow translated over to him. Jackasses travel in packs, she do eloquently reminded him one day as they literally bumped into each other at Iris's house. 

“Stop being rude and let him in,” Iris calls from behind.

Linda scowls but steps back, letting him in and he stands in the middle of the room noticing how his presence has dulled the mood considerably. "I can come back?”

“Great,” Linda holds the door open wide, sweeping her hand toward the hall as if to say please do.

“Linda.”

“What?”

Iris fixes her with a stare and Linda grunts rudely, pushing past Barry to take up the garment bag and shoes. “Fine. I was supposed to have these downstairs an hour ago anyway.” At the door she glances back at Barry, who mistakingly looks her in the eye, giving him her usual warning before stomping out.

When she's gone, Barry cups his nape. "I think she's starting to come around." He shoots his shot and misses off three mark when the joke fails to land. “Sorry, um, I really didn’t mean to interrupt. You said five and I wanted to be on time. I should've called and told you I was on my way or waited outside," he turns back to the door, "but Kendra said you were expecting me and sent me in – sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Iris waves him off, standing, she reaches for her purse and phone. “I appreciate you coming. Linda was going to take me -”

“It’s not a problem, happy to do it. You're on my way home and," he shyly confesses, "I like spending time with you."

She ducks her head. Another miss. He's not expecting her to jump in his arms or sing his praises but she's usually not so ... reserved, especially now that they've opened their highway of communication. It was one of the reasons she felt comfortable enough to call him when her engine light turned on this morning. She had her car towed and needed a ride. 

She shut her computer down, before moving around her desk. "Ready to go?”

“After you.”

After she says goodbye to her assistant and the rest of the floor, they walk to the elevator taking it down, walking side by side to his car. He has sports radio on, and offers to change to something more to her liking but either she's blocking him out or doesn't care because he barely gets a reaction. 

"Um, are you hungry? Cisco and Cait told me about this really great place. If you're not in a rush to go home we can check it out."

"..."

How was she going to tell him? And what was she going to say? And when she figured out a way - would he flip out? This nice guy act could be just that, an act. A Barry she never met could surface - a Barry that wanted to take away her life.

At a red light, she can feel him looking at her. "Iris? Hey?" Reaching over, he rests his hand over hers, looping one of his fingers with one of hers and squeezes lightly. 

She looks to her left but she can't see him. He's only a blur of shapes and color and a possibility of what could have potentially been.

"Are you okay?"

He was going to leave her. It was obvious. They were already undefined or involved romantically - he was only sticking around for the baby and once she told him, he was going to leave and take the baby with him. All in one day, her entire world broadened and closed off at the same time.

The light turned green. A car honked behind them and Iris mourned in the middle of traffic. The panic in Barry's voice didn't help any as he yelled, "whoa!" and she cried harder.

"Move your ass!" A man in the car behind them screamed out his window, cursing up a storm until Barry passed under the light just as it was turning yellow. The driver sped up, flipping him off, not that Barry cared or had time to acknowledge the angry presence outside. 

The "Welcome to Mommy-hood" vlog he subscribed to explained it was common for expectant mothers to experience mood swings but up until this point, Iris had never shown signs. He figured either she was exempt or she hid it very _very_ well. Either way, he was not prepared.

And it was progressively getting worse.

“Iris, hey, it’s okay.” One hand and eye stayed on the wheel and road, while the other swept her hair back from her face. “So we won’t go to dinner. Its fine, I’m not even that hungry. I lied.”

" _Thatsnotit_!" She wailed. 

"Whatever it is, it's going to be okay."

She shakes her head, cupping a hand over mouth, trying to rein it in. " _Youregoingtohateme_!"

"Hate you?! Iris, I could never hate you."

Turning down her street, he racess to her driverway, almost drivubg through a stop sign and throws the car in park. He unbuckles his seatbelt and twist his body toward her.

"Talk to me."

Shaking, Iris sinks and lets the endless possibilities of Barry reacting in the worst way conjuring on their own. Months ago this wouldn't have been a problem but she had to go and do the right thing. Now he had a say. He had rights. Now, he could put up a fight and take away everything. 

If he'd just walked away that day in the coffeehouse, it'd have stung but she'd learn how to deal. But now he's intergrayed into her life. They shared meals together, and joked and shared an interest in bad 90s pop music. She's witnessed firsthand the look of pure excitement cross his face as the months passed and she grew. He even wore his ridiculous reading glasses in front of her and he hated them so much because they reminded him of how old he was getting but secretly she thought they amplified his already good looks. 

And he has a secret smile he reserves just for her. The one where his whole face lights up and his eyes crinkle at the sides. She's never seen him smile at anyone like that but her. 

“Please."

She even knows what his body feels like close to hers; she remembers what his arms feel like wrapped around her and the weight of his front pressed against her back. All these things she can't forget and doesn't want to let go. 

It wasnt fair.

"Iris?"

Slower this time, she says again, "you're going to hate me."

"I promise, I won't."

So she tries, slowing her breathing, hiccups, and musters the courage she needs and tells him. "We won a bid on the property we've been gunning for for the past year."

Barry leans forward, as if waiting for the down side, when none comes, he smiles, cupping her jaw and brushes his thumb over her cheek. "What, Iris, that's great news. I'm happy for you."

"In Paris." 

"That's even better. That's amazing."

Sighing, she wasn't explainging properly. "Barry, this means I'd have to move. Which means we'll be apart ... all three of us." And she spots the exact moment it sinks in.

"Oh."

"Yeah," she wipes her nose with the tissue he hands her. "So, pretty hard to not hate me now, huh?"

Dropping his head, he moves away from her pressing against the door. He doesn't say anything, and she sits with anxiety steadily growing. "Let me walk you up," he finally says, opening the door on his side, slamming it shut and she forces herself to watch him stump around to her side. Before he opens her door he breathes once, twice and a third time then takes her hand and helps her out. He doesn't let go the entire walk up.

"For the record, I don't hate you, Iris. I honestly dont think it's possible."

"You're just saying that because you think you have to."

“No, I’m saying it because I mean it. Look,” lifting her hand to his chest, he rest it there so he can wrap his arms around her and says, “long before i came into the picture you had dreams. If opening this store is one of those, then do it Iris. Don't let me or anyone stand in the way.”

"But the baby?"

Barry shrugs, "will be fine."

"How do you know, I'm going to be away and you'll be here."

"Iris I don't know if you know this but there are these things called planes. Fascinating things, they can transport you places usually in a days time." 

"But work-"

"I've got some vacation time saved plus all my flight mileage stored up-"

"A years worth?"

Ducking his head, Barry presses his forehead to hers, trying to calm her growing hysteric and smiles at her hitching inhale. "No, but Iris we'll figure something out. I mean, we're going to be apart of a successful co-parenting dream team. We're going to do fine."

Sniffing, she says, "I feel like you're putting unrealistic expectations on us." 

"That's because I know we can do it! Iris, the only thing that matters to me is that both you and this little one," sliding one hand from her waist, he caresses her stomach and says, "are happy. We'll figure out the rest as we go." 

He's too good to be true. He has to be. 

"Are you real?" She whispers, following the gravitational pull she feels until they're pressed together. 

"I think so, or at least I hope so."

Iris nods slowly, playing with the short strand of his hair, waiting her time. His go-ahead. To let her know this was okay, that what she wanted for the past weeks wasn't one-sided or all in her head. When he licks his lips, peeking down at hers she takes it.

He doesn't kiss her back at first, surprised. But when she tugs him closer and licks his lips apart, he groans and responds with new life, moving as she urges him to kiss her any way he wanted, to seek his pleasure and take the lead and just when she thinks he will, he steps back, chest heaving, eyes blown wide and looks anywhere but at her.

"I gotta - I should go."

She's left on her doorstep, watching his car's headlights back out of the driveway.


	15. i'm afraid you'll take what i give

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _try to see this through my eyes 'cause you’re not the only one confused in this world where love is prone to lose_ "  
> \- until the pain is gone by Daley feat. Jill Scott
> 
> much love to **Kats_m3ow** , **AGDoren** for being a great editing/support team and **wordsandbowties21** for encouraging me during my dry spell.  
> ...

He wishes the sound of music belting from the radio or driving would be enough to distract him from Iris. But, try as he might ge can still feel the ghost of her lips on the edge of his, circulating like a shock of static to his system and if he closes his eyes long enough at a stop light, he can smell her perfume dragging him back.

A voice inside suggest it's where he should stay. Tells him wanting when he shouldn’t, isn’t a all bad.

“Mr. Allen?” _Tap. Tap._ “Mr. Allen, I’m sorry but you can’t block the entrance.” _Tap. Tap._ “Mr. Allen?”

Blinking, Barry turns to his left and Armond, Oliver’s doorman is standing outside his window, hunched over to block out the rain.

“Sir, I can have your car parked. I know Mr. Queen is expecting you.”

Armond offers politely, and if he notices the blank stare in Barry’s eyes he doesn’t mention it opening the door and motions a valet over. “Here you are,” escorting Barry inside to the private elevator that’ll lead to Oliver’s penthouse, Armond wishes him a good evening with a tip of his hat. The doors slide close, removing the expensive but bare lobby, save for its’ employees as a hushed thank you drowns in the sounds of elevator music.

Swiping his keycard takes him to the number listed under Queen, and in no time the doors push back revealing Oliver’s two-story living room. Cisco stands in the middle of it, a bowl of popcorn in hand.

“You made it.”

This is exactly where he supposed to tonight. With his friends, enjoying their company and time is where he wants to be but, he also thinks a porch, in her arms under the setting sun could be a place too - if she wanted.

“Are you gonna get off or .. Barry?” Cisco cocks his head to the side, tucking the bowl in the crook of his arm and steps forward placing a hand on Barry’s shoulder to usher him inside. “You okay?”

Barry seems to come out of his trance, shaking his head still looking conflicted, “- uh, yeah. Yeah.” Barry moves, toeing off his shoes and dumping his jacket over a ledge before following Cisco.

“Long day?”

Barry shifts his weight down on the couch, suddenly tired. “The longest.” He takes stock of the table filled with pizza boxes, a case of beer and wings and searches the room for its owner. “Where’s Oliver?”

“On a call.” Cisco tilts his head toward a long hallway leading to Oliver’s home office. He tries to cover his growing suspicion that this boys night was going turn into a work from home therapy session before tip-off by tossing a kernel in his mouth. But it's impossible to ignore the anxious twist of Barry’s fingers. 

He sighs, talking himself into holding off. If they were going to do this, they should at least wait for all present company even though Barry's rocking in his seat, pratically combusting to say whatever it is he has to say. “ .. should I ask -”

“I kissed Iris.”

Well. Cisco’s brows lift. Not the end of the world news he was expecting but - Barry doesn’t look thrilled by it either. “ .. I’m sorry that happened to you?”

Groaning, Barry falls farther onto the couch. “You don’t get it, Cisco - we kiiiiissed. How do you not understand how messed up that is?”

Cisco places the bowl down and considers any possible negative angle one kiss could cause. “Did she not want-”

“No. She kissed me!”

Cocking his head further in confusion, Cisco inquires, “but you said-”

Jumping to his feet, Barry stresses, “it doesn’t matter who kissed who. The point is we did.”

Still dumbfounded Cisco continue to look on unsure. He doesn’t want to police Barry’s reaction but maybe there's a possibility he's blowing this out of proportion negating his sense of emergency. At least in his book.

“And she’s moving ..”

Huh. Okay. He takes it back, Well, there's a root his crazy.

“Moving?”

“Who’s moving?” Oliver asks, announcing himself to the room. Sliding into a chair, he grabs a beer and waits for one of the two to explain. He can’t catch Barry’s eye so that leaves Cisco.

“Apparently Iris.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Barry says, taking his seat again and they take in the muted silence and exactly what it could mean for them.

Oliver is the first to speak, “and what did you say when she told you?”

Shrugging, Barry slid his fingers through his hair, “I told her to go.”

“You what?”

“Well, then there’s your problem.”

Cisco goes an inch further, bracing Barry by the shoulders, “why would you do that? Think about all the quality time I'm going to lose with my godkid. If they’re never around how am I supposed to be the cool supporting uncle?!”

“What was I supposed to do? Demand she stay?”

Oliver and Cisco clear a look over Barry’s shoulder. “Yes!”

Sighing, Barry pushes Cisco away, taking a second before calmly addressing the worry evident in the room. God forbid, they add steam to his judgment and he does something dumb, like, race to Iris and take back everything he’d said.

“C’mon, guys, of course, I would prefer if she stayed but I cant make her or hold on too tight ..” swallowing the lump in his throat, Barry reminds them, “we all know how well that worked out last time.”

“This is different, Barry. This is your kid we’re talking about. She can’t just leave you. What? Are you just going to be the guy that spends every other weekend and holiday getting to know their kid? How is that fair?” Oliver slaps his palm at the end of his point. “Tell her no. She can’t go.”

“Oookay. Let’s reel this puppy back in before Queen morphs into Banner.” Cisco says, pushing Oliver down into his chair, leveraging the rooms composure. “And Barry, Iris is sensible, right? I’m sure this wasn’t an easy decision for her to make. You’ll just have to figure out a schedule that’s easy on everyone.”

Sitting forward, hands resting on his thighs, Barry tells them the rest.

“Paris!”

“Is she serious!”

“I’m never going to see the little guy!” Cisco whines, “or girl - whichever - oh my god, they're not going to know who I am. Worse - they're not going to know I exist. Why is she doing this to us?”

“Why is she even going?” Oliver demands in a voice usually reserved for the boardroom. “What exactly is so important a thousand miles away?”

Lifting his head, Barry explains the conversation on the driver home, how he could physically feel his world crash landing around him as struggled wearing a brave face. He told her what she needed to hear because no matter how much he needed someone to stay for him - he would never force it or make her feel like less if she chose not to.

“If the roles were reversed, I’d be expected to go, y'know, no questions asked. And she deserves the same courtesy.”

They may not like it or share his level of understanding but by the end of his explanation, he thankfully sees the tension slowly start to strain away from his friends shoulders as they drink their beers in sync, looking a little worse for wear but nevertheless accepting.

“You guys okay?”

Cisco will never admit it but he's sporting a full-blown pout, gazing miserably into his empty beer bottle. “ … I've been better.”

“Oliver?”

He won't physically show it, but the offer of his private jet whenever Barry needs is on standby is Oliver’s way of attempting to not make a bigger deal out of what is life changing ordeal.

Barry smiles, once again trying to be strong. Not for Cisco and not for Oliver but for himself as a constant reminder _Iris is important and so are her dreams. So they are important him._

Cisco breaks the silence, asking the question that’s been on his mind since the beginning. “Is the move the only reason you freaked out about kissing her or - ?”

The new information probs Oliver to sit foward, highly alert with new attention.

“You kissed, Iris?”

Heat clawed its way up the center of Barry's neck, the sensation transporting him back to a time when he was twelve years old haven accidentally walked in on his cousin and her boyfriend making out on the couch. Like then he knew he didn’t belong but at the same time couldn’t look away.

He shouldn’t have kissed her back. He shouldn’t have put in that position. And even now, halfway across town in someone else’s home, he shouldn’t be thinking about it.

But, he can’t stop _doing_  it.

“Doesn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything.” It didn’t. He wouldn’t let himself believe that it could.

Cisco looks the least impressed, disbelief writing itself across his face in big black bold letters, blatantly calling Barry’s bluff. _Maybe not to her but you on the other hand._.

And his friends are good to him. In a lot of ways, they're his backbone. They keep him up when he repeatedly falls down. But. They never, in any capacity, claim to be saints.

  
“You’re honestly going to sit there and try to lie.To us. I call bullshit, man. Come on, so you like your girlfriend. It’s not a big deal, I actually highly recommended it.”

Oliver snorts into his second beer of the night.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

One of Cisco’s brows flex, mocking Barry, “suuure.”

“You’ve done a lot worse,” Oliver concedes. If Barry’s a little riled up by his words, Oliver pretends not to notice. “It’s true.”

“While I appreciate you,” Barry turns to Mr. Easygoing Cisco Ramon, “and you” Hardass Oliver Queen, he tells them straight up, “I can handle myself.”

A beat where a second has just enough time to pass the room fills with their laughter, cutting into each other.

“Listen, we love you Barry-”

“You're family-”

“And in saying that, I think I can speak for both Oliver and myself when I say-”

“You're not the most decisive person when it comes to .. handling well, life.”

“You suck at it.”

“Big time.”

The argument is on the tip of his tongue but Cisco beats him to the punch.

“Do you remember 9th grade? We had an entire summer to choose our electives but you couldn't make up your mind. And what happened?”

“You waited too long, missed out on your top choices and ended up taking drama.” Oliver volunteered. “Which you hated.”

“That’s high school. I’ve-”

“College! You went back and forth between the dorm closer to the library or the one outside of the engineering college. You missed the deadline and ended up staying off campus in a crappy one-bedroom apartment.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Dude, the place was a citation away from being shut down.”

“And not to be that guy," Oliver dips his toe back into the ring, “but remember when you ditched me last minute in New York for New Year? Who did you meet that night?” Oliver poses the question, ever the devil's advocate. "Now look where you are.”

Wife-less with a baby on the way.

“I think what Oliver is so kindly trying to say is left to your own devices, you tend to … stall. And while that's not necessarily a bad thing, because weighing your options is a good thing - you just .. always seem to come out on the short end.”

“Mmm.” Oliver clinks his bottle to Cisco's. “Yes. Exactly that.”

“Look, take our advice or don't. But in this scenario, Barry, Iris is your best choice. Do. _nooooot._ let her go.” Surprisingly, skeptical - I build walls to protect myself from any and all emotion - Oliver agrees.

“I may have rushed to some .. assumptions and I might still be a little cautious because of habits not easily shaken but Iris - she’s well - I don’t hate her.. anymore.”

“Hate her?”

“I said anymore. I’m complimenting her!”

“I just don’t understand how you could consider it in the first place, she’s, like, so great for him."

"How could you know that. You only met her once!"

"Aaaand we clicked. You know what your problem is, you’re quick to judge.”

Watching the two go at it is like watching a table tennis match, and while he could usually find an aspect to entertain himself with - this is his life they’re not so subtly fighting over.

“Guys! Guuuys!” Rapping his knuckles on the table, Barry finally gets them to settle down. “Have either of you even considered maybe I’m not what she wants?”

That maybe what happened was a one-off because of her hormones or circumstance. That maybe she could see past his words and straight to his disappointment.

“Then .. we’ll three men and a baby this thing.” Cisco says after a beat. “I’ll be Steve Guttenberg, Oliver’s obviously Tom Selleck and that leaves you, Barry. You’re Ted Danson. Now I think it’s about time we watch this game. The Minors are already probably 20 behind going into the 2nd quarter.”

As the end of the fourth quarter starts to close out, the Minors are facing a deficit too large to come back from in under three minutes.

“Another loss for the home team,” Cisco says, standing and excusing himself.

When it’s just them, Oliver scoots to the end of his chair and bumps Barry’s knee, hesitating for a moment when he has his attention.

“I know I'm the last person you should take advice from .. especially about stuff like this. I’m never going to pretend I know how this works ‘cause I don’t. But, what I do know is you're a great guy Barry Allen. You’re good and you’re decent. So if you're scared it’ll end up like before, don't be. Don't let Rebecca effect something worthwhile with Iris.”

The slow smile planting his features is Barry’s only give away, and really he’s touched. “When did you become Iris’ number one fan?”

“I didn’t say that.” Aloof, anti-Oliver reemerges, shifting back into the stoneface businessman in a blink of an eye. "All I am admitting to is listening to the way you talk about her. It’s different, and I think you owe it to yourself to see what it could mean.”

The final buzzer sounds and the Minors take them into a series low of 3-18. Cisco appears, walking straight into the line of Barry’s anxiety.

“Why do I get the feeling I missed out on a prominent moment concerning our future?”

“His future.” Oliver corrects, “what the hell took you so long anyway?”

“Um, if we’re helping raise this kid. It's our future.” Cisco insists. “And what do you think I was doing in there.”

“Did you spray!”

“No. Because I’m an inconsiderate asshole who doesn't take people and their homes into consideration!” Cisco throws his hands up.

“Hey, guys. Seriously relax.” It’s to the point of the night Barry has to physically step into separate the two. “Why do you two always have to fight?"

“He started it.”

“It doesn’t matter who started what,” easing Oliver back, Barry redirects Cisco across the room. “Jesus, could you two act like friends for once.”

Staring the other down, Cisco steels himself and grabs his unfinished pizza. “Just remember, take whatever advice Oliver gave you with a grain of salt, unless you prefer sulking and brooding."

“I told him to talk to her, smartass.”

Cisco blinks, snags a bite of his pizza and lifts his shoulders carelessly. “Fine, take his advice this time. But,” he leans forward, warning Barry with the hand holding his crust. “Just this once.”

As the posts game interview starts, the voice over from the anchors try to stratergise exactly where the Minors went wrong in another disappointing game. And Cisco announces he’s heading home for the night.

He’s sliding on his jacket and heading to the doors when he spins around, snapping his  finger, "and Barry? Invite Iris as your plus one to the wedding. Caitlin was going to send her an invite but we figured you’d be there so - she is your plus one, right?”

“..um," truthfully, he never thought to ask. He was just getting to a place where he could be comfortable. Then today happened and now he's back at square one.

And the last thing he wants is to spill his doubt, his uncertainty onto her and run the risk of loosing her.

So he deflects. “How’s that going by the way?”

Cisco doesn’t pay any nevermind, slipping on his shoes, answering like he’s been asked a thousand times or more. “Good. Everything's on schedule. Wedding planner is on her A game, which, really she should be considering how much she’s charging us. It’s all been a piece of cake.”

“Great. If you need anything let us know. Your best men are here for you.”

Jacket and scarf secured and shoes tied, Cisco calls for the elevator. “All you two need to worry about is getting your asses dressed on time for the ceremony and we'll be good.” Snapping his fingers again, he adds another tiny but mega huge detail. “And the ring!”

Barry points to Oliver, “Don’t look at me. He’s in charge of that.”

Slowly sipping from the scotch he switched over sometime during the game, Oliver slowly rolls his eyes, the only indicator that he’s even listening.

“Alright, well, I’m out.” Cisco threw up a peace sign, disappearing behind the closing elevator.

Not long after Oliver gets a call from one of his offices in L.A. and Barry doesn't bother sticking around, silently gathering up his stuff to not disturb what is quickly turning into a heated conversation.

He’s tipping the valet and pulling out onto the street before he knows it. The highway that'll take him home is coming up on his right but  he finds himself driving past it.

And an hour later, its no surprise he finds himself outside of Iris' house, starring from across the street taking in the red door, bay windows and fresh cut, no wayward leaves or weeds in sight. All she needed is a white picket fence to tie it all together. 

He wonders if he built her one, if she’d love it and by proxy him as well.

“Barry?” The door slides open, and he swears he doesn't remember getting out his car, much less knocking on her door at a quarter till midnight, but here he is knuckles pressed against wood and Iris on the other side.

“Hi.”

“Hi?”

Pulling the door back, reveals her full figure dressed in a CCPD shirt two times too big but fits snugly around her growing stomach, gray tights and fuzzy socks and Barry is .. amazed. How does she grow increasingly more beautiful?

“What’re are you doing here?”

Where does he even begin?

“.. um.”

“Do you want to come in?”

That might help, “yes. thank you.”

When he’s inside he gets even more unsure. Should he sit? Stand? Stay close to the door or walk around? Iris takes notice, taking his hand and pulls him down beside her on the loveseat. She rubs the back of his hand encouragingly, letting him find his words without pressure.

Except his concerns go flying out the window when he opens his mouth. “I read the first few days after the baby is born it’s good for parents to make skin to skin contact. T-to form a bond.”

She’s smiling at him, dragging her teeth across her bottom lip, as if she knows the real reason why he’s here.

“A-and I was thinking, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to sign us up for parenting classes.” He rushes through on a single breath he held either from nerves or the way her eyes focus on his lips. He can’t be entirely sure.

“I don’t know about you but I’ve never burped a baby in my life or changed a diaper-”

And he doesn't know how he didn’t notice but somehow, someway she ends up cuddled next to him, from thigh to thigh up to where her arm drapes lazily over the back of his shoulders.

“I-I don’t think I even know how to properly hold a baby.” He stutters his way through as she calls his name softly over his ear.

“Barry, why are you here?” She asks, not accusing or prompting him to leave but out of curiosity.

“I want to explain about myself, a-about earlier.”

A corner of Iris mouth tugs up, embarrassed she admitted. “I think I’m the one that needs to explain.”

“It would help.” Barry sighs, feeling like a weight is being lifted off his shoulders. And even as she buried her smile in his shoulder, he knew that whatever came next, he wouldn’t blame her. How could he when she’d been nothing but honest with him from the getgo.

Taking a deep breath first and right into the security of his arm, he hears her loud and clear.

“I’m attracted to you.” She says. “But I guess you already knew that.”

Normally he’d worry how red his face is face to face with such a pretty girl but he has no time as more words are being said inches away from his neck.

“And I know what I said before about relationships complicating things – they do – I still believe that.” She pauses, mulling over her next words delicately. “But I’ve been thinking about you and I..” she lets the slide of her fingers down his nape speak the rest for her.

“Ooh.”

And somehow she's closer, lips pressed right against his jawline. “Yeah.”

He shivers, gooseflesh spiking down his neck trailing after the feeling of her hands on his body. Even more as she tilts his chin down so he’s looking directly lined with her. “Oh.”

Her smiles is teasing, growing and trapping him in as she runs her thumbs across his bottom lip. “Do you think that's something you'd be interested in?”

In the risk of saying ‘oh’ again, Barry ducks his head in a short nod. She’s all smiles, ready to recreate the magic from the porch but just as she cups the back of head to bring them together, he pulls back.

“This isn’t going to change anything, is it?”

Iris blinks, whether she’s trying to piece together what exactly he means - their relationship status - her pending move - she doesn’t let it concern her in this moment closing the gap between them.


End file.
